Duty Is Color Blind
by Sandilynn Petersen
Summary: The A-Team's new client may have answers to some of Murdock's questions about one of his recurring nightmares. Sequel to "The Sucker Punch Never Came" and "The Hospital Nurse Affair." R/R
1. Chapter 1 But Not Captain Murdock

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

AN: Occurs after "The Sucker Punch Never Came" and "The Hospital Nurse Affair"

Chapter 1 But Not Captain Murdock

"Our client is a Nam vet."

Hannibal swiveled in the van seat and looked at each man in turn, letting the words sink in. He knew that fact alone would encourage them to give him their best.

"Served two tours as a gunner. Corporal First Class in the Army Air Corps. Purple Heart recipient. Wounded in 68 near Hue." The Colonel noticed Murdock raise his eyebrows in recognition of the location name and year. His eyes clouded with an onslaught of memories.

"Returned to the States, started a family and owns a small plane rental/tour business." The pilot's smile returned, memories buried again, at the mention of the light aircraft dimension of the business.

"Our client's oldest son, Jermaine, has been kidnapped. The group who has him wants his father to make a trip to Mexico for special cargo. He refused them until now."

"What does he want us to do, Colonel?" Murdock stared into Hannibal's eyes, a small smile beginning to play over his lean face.

"What do you _think_ you gonna be doin', fool? You the only one here can _fly_ one a them birds." B. A. growled and glared into the rear view mirror.

"And while Murdock is doing that, we'll be liberating our client's son. Turn left here, B. A." Hannibal motioned with his cigar down a narrow dusty road. At the end, gleaming under the afternoon sun was a corrugated steel hangar, three small passenger planes and a helicopter.

As B. A. parked the van, a short thin black man came out to meet them. Holding out his hand to greet the man, Hannibal stepped out of the vehicle.

The two men shook hands. "Colonel John Smith, I presume?" The black man's voice was businesslike.

Face, B. A. and Murdock followed, each man stretching his arms and legs from the long trip.

"Langston Bartholomew, I would like you to meet the rest of the team. This is Templeton Peck. We call him Face. The man with all the gold is B. A. Baracus and over there, leaning against the van, is H. M. Howling Mad Murdock, our pilot."

Murdock had been frowning ever since he heard the name "Langston Bartholomew." Hands in his pants pockets, squinting at the client in puzzlement, he seemed to be trying to remember something.

The Colonel detailed the terms of the agreement. "You pay us one hundred thousand dollars plus you ensure the plane used to make the special delivery has the fuel it needs to get to Mexico and back again."

Bartholomew was staring at Murdock, undisguised hatred displayed on his face. His eyes swept up and down the lanky pilot before he said, "I'll have the money for you before the end of the week, Colonel Smith, but it will be for the services provided by three men, not four. I will not tolerate having Captain Murdock on this airfield or in one of my planes."

It took only one minute for Bartholomew's words to register with Murdock. He frowned in confusion. Without a word, he straightened from slouching against the van and got in, closing the door after him.

B. A. and Face glanced at each other, surprised by the client's vehement tone and demand. B. A. glowered at Bartholomew, a look which was returned.

Hannibal removed the cigar from his mouth. With flinty blue eyes, he addressed the client. "When you asked for the A Team, you enlisted all four of us. None of the rest of us can fly a plane. Captain Murdock can. He either is allowed to perform his duty in this mission or the deal is off."

The airfield owner set his jaw. A muscle twitched as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. Several moments of silence went by in an impasse between the client and the Colonel.

"You think it over and let us know what you decide. It's all of us or none of us, Mr. Bartholomew." Hannibal motioned for B. A. and Face to get back in the van. "You know how to get in touch."

Murdock was gazing out the window toward the airplanes when Face took his rear seat position in the van. The pilot would not look at any of his friends. B. A. reversed the van and drove down the dirt road.

"Well, _that_ goes down in the books as a strange encounter." Face broke the silence after two minutes.

"Yeah. What's the man's problem wit' you, fool?" B. A. glanced back in the rear view mirror at Murdock.

The pilot shrugged, continuing to stare out the window.

"It's obvious he knows you from Viet Nam. He called you Captain. I realize your reputation in country was pretty spectacular but it's been ten years. I didn't mention your rank and he definitely has a dislike for you." Hannibal probed Murdock's brooding silence but got no response.

"Come on, Murdock, where do you know him from? Maybe we can straighten it out and get on with the mission." Face touched the pilot on the shoulder. Murdock startled as if awakened from a deep sleep.

"I . . . I don't know. It _has_ to be from Nam but I can't remember. When you introduced us, there was something about his name . . ." The pilot shook his head in frustration.

"Well, the ball is in his court now. He has to decide if his son's return is more important than anything he has against you." Hannibal leaned back in the passenger seat and closed his eyes. "We'll go back to the motel and wait for him."


	2. Chapter 2 Not Alone

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 2 Not Alone

When they arrived at the motel in Desert Hot Springs, Murdock excused himself to take a nap. Face and Hannibal exchanged concerned glances.

They both knew the pilot's sleep was disturbed by nightmares since his encounter with Jerry Connors, a former patient and informant for Colonel Decker. Last month, Connors almost killed Murdock in a knife fight on the grounds of the VA hospital.

His nightmare episodes were getting worse. They were more horrifying. His chilling cries and the thrashing he did while still in the depths of slumber indicated that.

The five hours he averaged per day was divided between early evening sleep while the others were still awake and an afternoon nap. He functioned, seemed alert, but the dark puffy circles under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion.

B. A., Hannibal and Face retired to the adjoining motel room to play a friendly game of poker and wait for Bartholomew's decision.

Twenty minutes later, they were startled by terrified cries that increased in volume and came from the next room.

Hannibal and B. A. rose to their feet but Face was first to the door between the rooms. He motioned for the others to sit back down.

"It's alright. I'll do it this time." The Colonel and Sergeant gave grim nods. They knew the next time Murdock slept, one of them would volunteer to bring him back from the center of his nightmare.

Face closed the door as quietly as he could behind him. Loud noises often triggered violent defensive reactions from the sleeping pilot. Even though the window shades were shut against the sunlight, Murdock had left the bedside lamp on.

_He's been doing that a lot lately like he's afraid of the dark._

He stood at the end of the bed and spoke softly. "Murdock? It's me. Face. Wake up now, buddy."

"Gonna hit us . . . blast it, fire back . . .Bart . . . oh God . . . can't get outta here . . . Bart . . . _whyyy . . ." _Murdock's sweaty face turned from side to side, his legs twisting in an agony only he felt.

Then a huge tremor went through his entire body. He propelled himself onto the floor, dragging bed covers with him, and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. His eyes snapped open as he pulled himself into a crouch. The pilot gulped breaths of air and stared wild-eyed around him.

"Murdock. Wake up." Face realized even now his friend might still be in a semi-conscious state. Attempting to touch him while he was in that condition would be a big mistake. Flashback dreams were sometimes like that.

"Face?" The pilot's voice shook as he became aware of his surroundings.

"I'm here. Let's get you up off the floor, okay?" Face waited for Murdock's nod before offering his hand. The pilot wobbled on unsteady legs for a few seconds, then settled himself on the edge of the bed.

"It was the _same dream_, Faceman. I'm flyin' over the jungle. Everything seems to be normal 'til I come to that clearing. I see Connors and his three soldier pals massacre those women and children. I go down for a closer look. Connors and I make eye contact, I'm that close. He points his M-16 at me, at my chopper. I try to lift the bird outta there . . . "

Murdock placed both elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands, palms over his eyes. Face lowered himself onto the bed to sit beside him. He sensed there was more.

"Take your time with it. I'm listening."

The pilot drew in several shaky breaths. Torment showed in his eyes when he raised his head to look at Face. "I was _not_ alone in the chopper. That first time I had the nightmare, I didn't see anyone else. Now I _know_ I had a gunner. I saw _his face_ this time."

"You were yelling at someone called Bart."

Another tremor passed through Murdock. "My gunner was Langston 'Bart' Bartholomew. When I saw Connors raise that weapon, my reaction was to shoot first, ask questions later. I ordered Bartholomew to fire back, shoot to kill, and he refused."

"I can't imagine you giving that sort of command." Face raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Murdock grimaced and avoided the statement. "I barely got the bird outta there. Took a shot through the floor up into my leg. Missed the bone. That's the only reason we got back to base camp. By the time it hit me, the round lost most of its power. The shot lodged in the flesh, but didn't hit bone."

Face let the words register. "That certainly puts a new light on our prospective client."

"But why does he hate me so much? Why doesn't he want me on this mission? It's been over ten years. There's gotta be more." Murdock's haunted eyes searched his friend's face for answers.

They both heard the phone ring twice in the next door room before being picked up.

"Maybe he's changed his mind, buddy."


	3. Chapter 3 A Grisly Delivery

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 3 Grisly Delivery

"Faceman, you gotta let me try to talk to Bartholomew in private before we say anythin' to the Colonel. Promise me." Murdock gripped his friend's shoulder so tightly Face winced.

"Okay. Okay! I'll say nothing unless it begins to compromise our safety. Fair?"

Murdock glared into Face's eyes, unsure whether to trust the promise or not. Then he relaxed and nodded, releasing his friend's shoulder.

None of the four men spoke on the trip back to Bartholomew's airfield. Hannibal noted the piercing glances Face shot in Murdock's direction. The pilot ignored the looks and seemed to be steeling himself for something he had to do.

Something was being kept secret between them. Hannibal didn't like secrets. They could come back to bite the team when they were least suspecting it. They almost always did.

Knowing that neither man would release the reasons for his behavior without quite a bit of questioning, the Colonel decided to wait for a more opportune time. They were nearing the airfield anyway.

Bartholomew was pacing up and down in front of the hangar when B. A. parked. He clutched a small cardboard box in one hand. Taking a new cigar from his jacket pocket, Hannibal approached the man. The rest of the team left the van and stood a few feet away.

"Colonel Smith, I called you because this was just delivered." He shoved the box into the Colonel's hands and swiped one anxious hand over his face. The man was sweating, his eyes panicked.

Murdock scrutinized Bartholomew and felt a pang of sympathy for the man. How would he feel if he had a son and his safety depended upon three strangers and a man he despised?

Hannibal opened the box lid, glanced at the contents and just as quickly closed it again. His jaw muscles twitched with anger over what he saw. "Okay, so we know how serious they are. Have you given them any reason to suspect you have contacted us or anyone else for help?"

The ex-gunner shook his head as if he were dazed and had not heard the Colonel's question. "If they could do something like that . . . " and he motioned toward the box, "then what chances does Jermaine have? They could've _removed_ the ring and sent it. They didn't have to do _that_." He fiercely swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and took the box back.

Murdock stared down at the ground, realizing what the package contained, wanting to help but knowing any words he could say would likely be rejected.

"Again, Mr. Bartholomew. Do they have any reason to suspect you have contacted anyone?" Hannibal made his tone intentionally harsh. He had to break through the man's shock and get information.

"No. Unless they have someone watching this place, they know nothing about you."

"Good. Let's try to keep it that way. Now, you're going to let them know that you've changed your mind about the special Mexican trip. You're sending one of your tour pilots, someone you trust to keep quiet." Hannibal glanced at the Captain and made eye contact with the client, making sure the man knew exactly what he intended.

"I guess it'll have to be that way." Bartholomew scowled at Murdock. The pilot shrugged and scuffed his foot in the dirt.

"You said they tried to get you to fly down to Mexico before this. Who made contact with you?"

"The name's Jefferson Whitman. He owns an import business, supplying gift shops with cheap pottery, pinatas, serapes, stuff like that, from Mexico. It didn't make sense to me that he would come to a small business like mine to bring a shipment into the country. We're strictly rentals and tourism."

"Which means what he wants hauled needs to be under the radar." Hannibal reflected a moment before asking, "Do you happen to know where we might be able to find Mr. Whitman?"

"His main office is on Perez Road in Cathedral City. He calls his business Tesoro de Mexicana Imports."

"Good. Face, B. A. and I will drive to Cathedral City and see what we can do about finding the location where they are holding your son. Mr. Bartholomew, I want you to fill Captain Murdock in on what you know about Whitman, the job he wanted you to do and whatever else you feel will prepare him to take your place on that trip."

Murdock squinted toward the client, looking for some sign of acceptance even if it was begrudging assent to Hannibal's orders. The black man returned the look with a frowning glare. At least he would get some opportunity to speak to Bartholomew in private . . . maybe. That was, if his ex-gunner was willing to talk about Nam.

The hostile glance the client gave his pilot was not lost on the Colonel. He wondered again what the man had against Murdock. It could become a problem.

Hannibal walked over to the Captain and slung an arm around his shoulder. "I have complete faith in this man's ability to pick up the goods and keep them out of the reach of Mr. Whitman."

_I know Murdock doesn't need to hear that. He knows how I feel about his aerial skills. Bartholomew needs to know he can trust him because I do. And if Bartholomew trusts this part of the plan, the rest of it should come together nicely . . . I hope._


	4. Chapter 4 Flashbacks Remembered

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 4 Flashbacks Remembered

Murdock and Langston Bartholomew were alone in the airfield office. The black man sat by the phone, pretending to read a newspaper which he held conveniently high so he could not see the pilot.

_This is silly. We worked together in Nam. We should be able to work together again. We have to._

Clearing his throat, Murdock tried to gain the client's attention. "Listen, I'm sorry about . . . you know . . . what happened to your son."

"Are you?" The two words were quietly spoken. Bartholomew turned a page of the paper.

"I don't really know how to say this." Murdock paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "Do you have flashbacks . . . you know . . . dreams that jolt you out of bed? Dreams about Nam?"

"What vet who was in country for long hasn't?" The client rustled the paper and continued to read.

"You and I . . . we flew together, didn't we?"

_C'mon. I gotta know what the problem is between us. I gotta know more about my dream._

"Correction. _You_ flew. I shot."

"Well, yeah, I guess you could put it that way."

_Man, this is tough. How do I drag the conversation to Connors and the massacre without comin' right out and sayin' it? _

"There's one dream 'bout Nam I can't seem to shake. It's a bad one." Murdock let the words weigh down the silence between them.

Bartholomew folded the newspaper and set it on the counter. Expressionless, he stared at the pilot. "What are you skirting around, Captain? It's obvious you have something on your mind."

"Look. Since gettin' back to the States my home has been the Psychiatric Ward at the VA Hospital in Westwood. If that makes you think I shouldn't pilot one of your birds, I'm okay with that. The Colonel won't be, but I am."

"Go on." Murdock had the black man's full attention.

"I keep turnin' over rocks in my memory 'bout my tours in Nam. Some of the memories are easily dug up and healed. Some of those memories are so deep inside me, they don't come to surface 'til I sleep. Those're the worst." He saw a hint of empathy in the client's expression.

Bartholomew nodded, his eyes reflecting thoughts about his own flashbacks.

"That dream I was talkin' 'bout? The real bad one? You're in it, only I didn't know 'til earlier this afternoon during my nap that you were." Murdock noted he had struck a nerve with the statement.

"What was I doing in your dream?" The black man's eyes shifted to stare at the worn linoleum floor. He clasped and unclasped his hands several times.

"Do you remember a small clearing in the jungle and four American soldiers killing a group of women and children?"

Murdock could tell from the grimace on Bartholomew's face that he did. The black man looked up into the pilot's face and nodded.

"I forgot 'bout it, blocked it out, 'til the head honcho who led that little group of murderous mudsuckers came after me at the hospital." Murdock lifted his shirt to show the almost healed knife wound he sustained to his belly. "His name was Connors and he wanted to keep me from _ever_ tellin' anyone. Got me in the arm and leg, too, but this one was the deepest and worst." Bartholomew flinched at the sight of the dark purple and red eight-inch scar.

"This Connors. Where is he now?" The client licked dry lips and kept most of the fear from his tone.

"Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Thing is, I have to testify against him 'bout those murders. It's the word of one crazy man against another. Unless a sane member of my crew who saw what I did testifies to the same thing, nothin'll stick."

"In case you haven't noticed, Captain, my skin tone isn't the same as yours. What makes you think they'll take the word of a black man any more than that of a crazy man? They wouldn't have back then and I knew it. Will they now?" The ex-gunner gave Murdock a cold stare.

"You're talkin' a different time. When we was over there, all of that was changin'. Didn't you notice the change when you got back?" Murdock could tell from Bartholomew's eyes that he hadn't. Maybe it _hadn't_ changed so much for him. He shifted the subject to one of his questions.

"Another thing I gotta know. What were we doin' up there? Was anyone else with us?" Murdock knew he had two more questions after these, two which might be harder to answer. These were easy.

"Man, you really _did_ flip out and forget, didn't you? We were flying light reconnaissance. That's the reason you noticed what happened on the ground. Jase Hammett was your peter pilot. He's gone now. Couldn't take the flashbacks and adjustments he had to make to get by. Swallowed a shotgun round just last June." Bartholomew shook his head and swiped at his eyes with a red bandanna. "Any more questions?"

"Well, yeah . . . I guess . . . in my nightmare, I told you to shoot at Connors and his men. Did I really do that?" It was difficult but Murdock kept eye contact with his ex-gunner.

"Yes."

The pilot closed his eyes and swallowed. A lump of guilt the size of the state of Texas rose in his throat. He was once capable of ordering someone's life to be taken from him. Was he still? It was an abhorrent thought to him.

One of the reasons he enlisted in the Army Air Corps was to fly high above the ground where, if he had to kill the enemy in an aerial bombardment, at least he didn't have to see their faces. The reality of Viet Nam was that even a pilot sometimes had to watch them die up close and personal, had to if you crashed in enemy territory. That was the nature of war. But to order a fellow American, a fellow soldier, killed . . .

"But you saw the guns aimed directly at us. It was an order made to protect the chopper and your men." Bartholomew's voice interrupted his thoughts, gentler now, recognizing the remorse still playing over Murdock's face.

The Captain opened his eyes and glanced at the black man. "If you knew that for certain, why did you disobey my orders?"

Bartholomew stared out the window of the office at the airplanes on the landing strip. Bitterness crept back into his voice. "A black man shooting and killing four white men? Even in that situation back then, there would have been reprisal. Besides, I had flown with you enough to know you'd get us out of there."

"I almost didn't." Murdock fixed his probing gaze on Bartholomew. The ex-gunner looked down at the floor and shifted uneasily in his seat.

Murdock had more questions but the ring of the phone interrupted their conversation.

Bartholomew almost fumbled the receiver picking it up. "Yes, Bart's Tours and Rentals. How can I help you?"


	5. Chapter 5 Pest Control

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 5 Pest Control

"We need to tap into the phone in Whitman's office. I have no doubts he keeps in communication with the men he has watching Jermaine. He may also have files on his Mexican connections. I wouldn't mind having a trace on his car either, just to know where he goes." Hannibal thought as he put together a mental list of the things they had to do to find Bartholomew's son.

"How do you propose we do that? We can't just walk in and demand access to his files." Face considered what he just said. "Or can we?"

An hour later, Face strode into Tesoro de Mexicana Imports, clipboard in hand. His neatly pressed uniform bore the insignia of a United States Customs agent. The bleached blonde secretary attending the front office phone dazzled him with a smile as he came in. He hid a pleased smirk as he noticed her eyes slowly assessing him from his neatly combed hair to his spit-polished black shoes.

"May I help you?" Her honeyed voice almost made Face forget the reason he was standing in front of her desk.

_Business before pleasure. But maybe later?_

He sweetened her smile with one of his own. "Yes, I'm Agent Weldon with the U. S. Customs Service. We received an anonymous tip earlier this week that Tesoro de Mexicana Imports had some irregularities in shipments from Mexico you accepted in September of this year. Is your boss around by any chance?"

The secretary's eyes absorbed his every feature as she gave him one more provocative scan. "Mr. Whitman isn't in right now. I expect him back in about an hour. Maybe I can be of assistance?" She rose from the seat and came toward Face. He appraised the figure under the mid-thigh-length tight amber skirt and clinging sleeveless ecru sweater and noted her amusement when she caught his gaze.

_Wonder if she's available sometime this week. _

He cleared his throat and tried to focus. "I would like to see the files on the companies with which you do business, particularly those transactions made in September? If it wouldn't be too much trouble?" He flashed another smile which she returned.

"Of course, Agent Weldon. If you would come this way? By the way, my name is Roberta but most of my friends call me Bunny." She clasped his hand in a handshake. As her hand left his, her fingertips stroked his palm lightly.

_I'll give this to Whitman. He knows how to pick his secretaries._

As she opened the door to Whitman's office, B. A. and Hannibal came into the outer office. She gave them a pretty frown and cast a remorseful glance at Face. "If you'll excuse me while I help these gentlemen?"

"Of course . . . may I call you Bunny? I'm sure I'll be able to find that pesky paperwork in no time." She gave him a lingering look and closed the door just as B. A. concealed a plastic pouch in his work coveralls.

"Lady, you got problems." Hannibal spoke around the cigar in his mouth and gestured to the floorboards of the room. He turned to B. A. and pointed at a group of small black dots on the floor. "See? That's what I mean. Obvious rodent infestation."

"Rodents?" Bunny crinkled her nose. "You mean mice?"

"Yeah, lady. Mebbe even rats." B. A. scowled at her and at the rodent droppings he had scattered moments earlier.

"Your boss called yesterday. He wanted us to check it out and get rid of them, if there are any." Hannibal grinned with satisfaction at the look of revulsion on Bunny's face. "Sam, go get the equipment."

As B. A. left, the Colonel added, "This could get a little messy. We'll clean up afterward but you may want to take a small lunch break until we're through."

The secretary glanced at the inner office door and grabbed her purse from beside the desk. Without another word, she swept from the office and scurried toward her car.

Hannibal chuckled, then entered Whitman's office. "Find anything, Lieutenant?"

"He receives products from three Mexican manufacturers. The one he does the most business with is Que Divertido, a supplier of pinatas, maracas and other party-related stuff, in Ensenada. There is also a phone number for a warehouse in Bermuda Dunes and another he wrote on the desk blotter. It's circled several times so it must be important. I wrote down all the information and put the bug on the phone." Face strained to look past Hannibal into the outer office.

"She left, Lieutenant. Something about pest control. Besides, you know we put business first." Hannibal grinned at the sight of Face's crestfallen expression. "Now let's get out of here before the boss man comes back."

"Hannibal! Faceman! Someone drove up." B. A. growled a warning from the doorway. The two men left the office and closed the door behind them. Hannibal bent on one knee beside the droppings on the floor while B. A. waited with two packages of glue tray boxes. Face opened the outer door as a tall well-tanned man walked up. He frowned at the conman when he recognized the insignia on the uniform.

"May I help you? I'm Jefferson Whitman." He extended his hand to Face.

"No. No problem. Before she went to lunch, your secretary helped me find what I was looking for. I'll just be going. Nice meeting you." Face shook hands and nudged past Whitman.

Shaking his head and frowning, the businessman entered the building.

"Ah, Mr. Whitman, I presume?" Hannibal removed the cigar from his mouth and stood. "Nasty problem you have here. My associate here is going to lay down some glue trays and see if we can't get rid of those rats for you. Sam, place one here," and Hannibal motioned with his cigar, "and here." Glancing out the window, the Colonel saw Face straighten from placing an electronic tracking device under the license plate of Whitman's car.

"I never noticed any rats." Whitman narrowed his eyes as B. A. opened the packages and placed the trays along the walls.

The Colonel grinned and pointed his finger at the man. "That's because you have to know what to look for. Besides, they're sneaky little devils. You got to know where to look."

Hannibal motioned to B. A. and pointed to the waiting van. The two men left the building, the Colonel pausing for one moment in the doorway.

"Good day, Mr. Whitman."


	6. Chapter 6 Plans Gone Awry

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 6 Plans Gone Awry

Murdock popped a new stick of gum into his mouth as Bartholomew spoke on the phone. He scrutinized the black man. Sweat beaded on the ex-gunner's face. The conversation was going from bad to worse quickly. The Captain shook his head and grimaced.

_Well, at least I know Bartholomew doesn't lie very well. Good for him, but not for us. _

"I swear, I didn't tell anyone. Why would I? You have my son; you hold the cards."

Silence as Bartholomew listened. He twisted the phone cord between restless fingers and glanced at Murdock through terror-filled eyes.

"All I was asking was if I could send my number one tour pilot down there to get the cargo. If I could leave the business for a day, I would. He's very trustworthy, won't say a word to anyone if I tell him not to."

The pilot averted his gaze to the floor. He was beginning to doubt whether Bartholomew would be able to successfully convince the kidnappers to allow a substitute pilot to make the flight.

Murdock heard the anguished scream over the phone receiver from where he sat. His whole body tensed and he stood, his hands immediately balled into fists.

If Murdock's reaction to the tortured sound was one of helpless fury, Bartholomew's was one of horrified paralysis.

"I . . . I'll do whatever you need me to do. Just don't hurt my boy anymore . . . please." The ex-gunner's voice trembled. After a pause, he picked up a pen and scrawled coordinates on an unmarked section of the counter top blotter. "I understand. I make the trip alone, pick up the pallet of boxes and unload them at the Bermuda Dunes airport. A truck will be there for the cargo. Then I return here and wait for further orders."

Even as Bartholomew repeated the instructions, Murdock vehemently shook his head in disagreement.

_This plan is goin' south and there's not much I can do 'bout it. The Colonel isn't gonna like Bartholomew goin' solo one bit. _

The black man glared at him with tormented eyes and clenched his teeth. He hung up the phone with shaking hands.

"What did you _expect_ me to do? You heard Jermaine's scream over the phone. Lord knows what they did to him." The gunner wiped the sweat from his face and got to his feet. "We've heard _nothing _from Colonel Smith. I _have_ to do what they want. I'm taking off in a half hour to make the pick up." He tore off the top sheet of the blotter, folded it and placed it in his pants pocket.

Murdock gripped Bartholomew's upper arm and forced him to listen. "You go down there alone 'n' you and your son'll end up in shallow graves. These guys won't leave loose ends."

The client yanked his arm away and pushed past the pilot. "They'll kill Jermaine if I don't. You're staying here, Captain."

Murdock let out an exasperated sigh as Bartholomew swept outside, slamming the door behind him. He picked up the receiver and dialed a number.

"Colonel, we got a problem. The bad guys upped the ante and spooked Bart. He's gonna try to do this by himself."

The pilot listened, then said, "I'll do everything I can to stop him. Just hurry back." Hannibal had said they were about twenty minutes away. Unless they were diverted from reaching their destination, the guys would be at the airfield by the time Bart said he had to take off.

He cradled the phone and stared out of the window. Bartholomew had disappeared from sight.

Startled, Murdock hurried out of the office and toward the hangar. He presumed Bart would use the '79 Beechcraft King Air-200C a few hundred feet away for the Mexican trip. A nine passenger light utility prop job with a cargo pod in its belly, it was the most obvious choice.

Bartholomew was nowhere to be seen. Scanning the airfield and small craft a last time for any sign of the ex-gunner, the pilot lingered outside the hangar door.

_If I was Bart and I didn't want an extra passenger when I went to pick up that cargo, I'd make sure the passenger couldn't board the plane. _

From the way his sixth sense was sending warnings to his brain, Murdock knew Bart was waiting to waylay him. He paused for several seconds, straining to hear the slightest sound from inside the building. Silence.

"Bart? Listen man, I know you're in there. You gotta know I have my orders. You're not gonna go alone. Period. End of story."

"And you know I can't let you stop me, Captain." Murdock heard the crunch of gravel underfoot and the voice behind him. Shaking his head, he silently cursed. He had neglected the hangar's back door in his urgency to find Bartholomew. "Don't turn around. I don't want to have to shoot." The pilot heard the safety being released and raised his hands in surrender.

"Okay, you got me fair and square. You win. But what if I'm right? Whitman gets whatever's in that cargo . . ."

"Doesn't matter as long as there's a chance Jermaine will be released."

"You didn't let me finish . . . _and you and your son's dead_. Give the Colonel a chance to find Jermaine. Hide me in the cargo bay when you go to Mexico. They'll be expectin' you; they won't be expectin' me."

"No, Captain." Murdock felt Bartholomew press the gun against his spine. "Open the door and get inside."

The two men entered the hangar.

"I have some preflight checks to do and I need you out of the way. Lie down on your stomach on the floor."

Murdock obeyed and watched out of the corner of his eye while Bartholomew grabbed a length of safety lock wire and a pair of pliers from a workbench. "Sorry, it's all I have on such short notice. Hands behind you," the black man commanded as he knelt and ground one knee into the pilot's back. He deftly wound the wire tightly around Murdock's wrists and used the pliers to twist the ends securely together. He did the same for the pilot's ankles.

Standing, Bartholomew slipped the safety back on the gun and frowned down at the Captain. "I'm sorry to have to leave you like this. I'm sure your Colonel will be back here sometime to release you. I can't wait. I have to go."

"You're makin' a huge mistake, Bart!" Murdock yelled as the gunner strode to the hangar door.

"It's a risk I have to take, Captain. You would understand if you had a kid of your own."

Several minutes later, when he heard the King Air's engine start, Murdock groaned his frustration.


	7. Chapter 7 The Jazz Is On

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 7 The Jazz Is On

While on their way back to the airfield, Face listened in on ear buds for phone calls Whitman made from his office. Hannibal monitored the tracker screen for movement of Whitman's car.

Murdock's call had the Colonel worried. A nervous client could jeopardize the mission and put their lives as well as his own in danger. Bartholomew's reluctance to use the Captain for the Mexican pick-up and the hatred the client had for Murdock continued to bother Hannibal.

Ten minutes passed in silence, each man hoping their combined surveillance would produce results.

"Pay dirt, Hannibal!" Face grabbed a note pad and pen. "It's Whitman calling someone at the Bermuda Dunes warehouse." He frowned after a few moments. "Uh oh."

The Colonel clamped down on his cigar and glanced back at the Lieutenant. "Tell me."

"Bartholomew has taken off on his way to the warehouse in Mexico. Whitman must have had someone watching the airfield after all. I can't believe we didn't check that out before our visit. Murdock and Bartholomew went into the hangar together but only our client came out."

"Speed up, B. A." The Colonel cast a troubled frown toward the burly driver.

"Got it, Hannibal."

Face wrote something on the pad and handed it to Hannibal. "The cargo will be delivered to the Jacqueline Cochran Regional airport in Thermal. It'll look like a small shipment of boxes of Mexican party pinatas. Arrival time approximately three and a half hours from now. There will be a Tesoro de Mexicana Imports truck waiting for the cargo when Bartholomew arrives. The boxes with the special merchandise will have a red dot on the outside somewhere."

Hannibal smoked his cigar in silence for a few seconds. "Well, guys, I believe Whitman's next step will be to move Jermaine from the hiding place to the Bermuda Dunes warehouse. Most likely, they'll be taking Bartholomew and the shipment there after they receive it at the airport."

Only a few minutes went by before Face spoke again. "Another phone call coming in, Colonel. Whitman to someone called Lotario, telling him to get the kid ready." Face looked up. "You were right. They're going to move Bartholomew, Jermaine and the shipment all to the same place."

A series of moving blips on the tracker screen in front of Hannibal drew his attention. He took in a deep breath. "Whitman's on the move. Any bets he's going to the place they've hidden the kid?"

"So what do we do, Colonel? See what Bartholomew did with Murdock, follow Whitman or go to the airport?" Face knew what he _wanted_ to do but wants were not always practical during a mission.

"With the trailing device on Whitman's car, we'll locate him wherever he ends up. We have roughly three hours to prepare a welcome for Bartholomew at the airport. The welcome I have in mind will require our pilot." Hannibal stared out the window in thought.

"That is, if the sucka didn't get hisself killed," B. A. muttered, tightening his grip on the steering wheel and accelerating even more.

Face and Hannibal exchanged uneasy glances.

B. A. braked hard beside the airfield hangar. Before Face or Hannibal could open their doors, the driver was striding toward the wooden door. He didn't slow down but with one kick splintered the door. It fell off its top hinge and hung crazily to one side.

The Colonel and Lieutenant followed in B. A.'s wake to find the black man already using a pair of wire cutters to free Murdock.

"I've never been so glad to see you, you big mudsucker." The pilot pushed himself into a sitting position, examining his bleeding wrists and flexing his numb fingers. He gazed up at Hannibal with a rueful expression. "I tried to reason with him, but Bartholomew got the jump on me. He's armed. Probably gonna try to rescue Jermaine by himself after the Mexican pick up."

"Then he's more of a crazy fool than you are," B. A. grumbled. He held out his hand to lift Murdock to his feet.

"Thanks, Big Guy." Murdock shook his head in sympathy. "Bart ain't thinkin' straight, that's all. He went nuts when his kid screamed over the phone. Guess I woulda felt the same way." The pilot leaned against a workbench trying to get feeling back into his hands and feet. His gaze flickered up to the Colonel's face. "We still gotta try to help him."

B. A. shook his head in disbelief. "After pullin' a gun on you, leavin' you here like this, 'n' you _still_ wanna help him? Mebbe you _are_ the bigger fool."

"No, B. A., Murdock's right. We were hired to do a job and even if the client gets nervous, we need to do what we do best." Hannibal put a hand on the pilot's shoulder.

"What's the plan, Colonel?" Face walked over to stand beside Murdock. He grimaced at how deeply the wire had cut into his friend's skin. Like B. A., he wasn't sure how much he _wanted_ to help Bartholomew anymore. The son, yes; the father . . .

"That depends upon our timing and whether Murdock can fly that chopper out there."

"Just get me in 'er and I'll getter flyin'. Where to, Hannibal?" The pilot, all attention diverted away from his injuries, grinned at the thought of taking to the sky.

"Jacqueline Cochran Regional Airport. You have a shipment of pinatas to pick up." Hannibal's eyes got a mischievous glint and he smiled around his cigar.

"Faceman, Colonel's on the jazz again." B. A. scowled a second time at the backs of Murdock and Hannibal as they walked together toward the shattered hangar door. "We in for a ride, man. They _both_ got that look."


	8. Chapter 8 Coming Clean

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 8 Coming Clean

"There's the truck, B. A. Park beside that hangar." Hannibal checked the tracker screen. "Whitman's still at the location where the kid is. They haven't started moving him yet."

"I sure hope you're right about him. He wouldn't get rid of the kid before Bartholomew and the shipment are delivered to the warehouse, would he?" Face leaned forward between the seats.

"I'm going to assume for now that Whitman will follow through on what he said over the phone." If Hannibal was uncertain about anything, he wasn't letting on.

The Lieutenant stared toward the Tesoro de Mexicana Imports truck and two men leaving a hangar and getting into it.

"We have to know exactly how many of his thugs are here to meet Bartholomew when he lands." Hannibal scanned the area with field glasses and glanced at B. A. and Face. "No one seems to be moving around much. Gentlemen, you know what to do."

"Boy, I hope there's only two of them." Face scowled down at the airplane mechanic's coveralls he was wearing. "I wouldn't want to get blood all over my new clothes."

"Sarcasm noted, Lieutenant. Now get going. When you secure the vehicle you'll wait there for our client to show up."

B. A. grunted his agreement and nodded to the conman. Together they walked toward the Imports truck.

Face opened the passenger door and leaned up into the cab. "You guys're gonna have to move this rig. Got a flatbed trailer comin' in with maintenance equipment that needs to park here."

"We didn't hear nothin' 'bout that. We were told to wait here." The driver frowned his reluctance to move.

B. A. opened the door, dragging him down to eye level. "You heard what t' man said, sucka. You move it or we do. Your choice."

The man on the passenger's side stepped down from the truck. "Mr. Whitman said . . ."

Before he could finish the sentence, Face drew his revolver from a deep pocket of his coveralls. "I think we can be reasonable about this, can't we? Now are there any more of you or are you the only flunkies Whitman sent out here?"

B. A. had the driver in the air, his feet dangling three inches from the ground. The man's face was turning crimson as he gasped for breath. "Just us. No more."

All four men heard the van as it approached and parked between the hangars nearest the delivery truck.

"Ah, your ride has arrived, gentlemen." Face motioned with his gun and the passenger shambled to the side door of the van. B. A. half-dragged the driver in the same direction.

Hannibal got out and opened the rear passenger door with a huge grin and a coil of rope over his shoulder. "Well, that was easy. Wasn't it, guys? Make sure our guests are comfortable."

As B. A. and Face tied up and gagged Whitman's men in the back of the van, Hannibal watched the skies for the two pilots and their aircraft.

"Face, when Bartholomew arrives, drive out to meet him. Let him get out of the plane and up to the truck before he sees who you are. I'll keep these two company and follow after you've met our client."

"Still no sign of Murdock. Think he's okay, Colonel?" Face cast a concerned look at Hannibal.

"I sent him to find a clearing near the Mt. San Jacinto Wilderness area where he can lay low with Whitman's specially marked cargo until we need it. He'll be here." The Colonel took out a fresh cigar and lit it. After one more searching gaze at the skies, Hannibal walked back to the van to wait. The delay would give him the time he needed with Murdock to talk about Bartholomew.

An hour passed before the helicopter flew overhead and made its descent onto the asphalt of the airfield. As the rotors slowed to a stop, Murdock left the cockpit and strode to the van where Hannibal waited.

He hopped into the front passenger's seat and smiled across at the Colonel. "Had some trouble finding a clearing where no one'd take notice. Lots of buildings on the main roads through the park. Tried to find a clearing close to an access road so's you can find me when you need me. Any problems so far, Hannibal?"

"No, we're just waiting now for Bartholomew to arrive." The Colonel hesitated and examined the cigar in his hand before continuing. "Now that we have time, I think you'd better fill me in on this conflict between you and the client."

"What'd Face tell you?" Murdock's smile disappeared and he stared straight ahead at the dashboard of the van.

"Nothing. He didn't have to. It's no secret the client has something against you. You told Face something this afternoon after you woke up. Tell me what you know."

"It's my problem. I'll deal with it."

_Damn, Murdock's going to make this harder than it needs to be._

"That wasn't a request, Captain. If Bartholomew has something against you, he might let that compromise the mission. He's already done something stupid by going down to Mexico himself." Hannibal leveled his gaze on Murdock's profile. The Captain tensed his muscles before replying. When he did, his words were carefully chosen.

"I don't know the reason for the bad blood yet. Bart was my gunner for several missions in Nam before I met you. He was with me in the chopper when Connors and his guys killed those civilians. That's all I know."

"I can read you better than that, Murdock. We haven't worked together for this many years without me knowing when you're holding something back. Tell me the rest."

"I've been thinkin' 'bout it a lot since I talked to Bart. Had a lot more time to think 'bout it when I was up there in the chopper."

"And?"

"In east Texas when I was growin' up, black folk had their places they could go and whites had theirs. I went to school with some Negroes but that was because the courts said it had to be that way. Never thought 'bout it back then. It was the way it was." Murdock frowned as he reflected on his childhood.

Hannibal wasn't sure if his pilot was using a deflective answer to avoid the question but decided to wait.

"When we were in Nam time's were changin', you remember, don'tcha, Colonel?" When Murdock didn't receive an answer, he stole a glance at Hannibal. "Well, for some of us the times didn't change all that much. For Bart, it doesn't seem to have. Maybe Bart and me came into bad blood 'cause of somethin' I did over there, somethin' I don't remember yet. Somethin' based on his skin color."

Hannibal thought for a minute. "You're hardly a person I'd accuse of being a racist, Captain. Look at how you and B. A. get along."

Murdock smirked but his expression was self-mocking. "You sure you want to use that as an example? A part of me enjoys watchin' him get all riled up."

"But if he were hurting, Captain, what would you do? I know the answer to that. You've proved it several times over the years. You're _not_ a racist." Hannibal watched the pilot as Murdock's eyes wandered to the truck where B. A. and Face waited. "What else aren't you telling me?"

Murdock sighed and closed his eyes as he told the Colonel the rest of the flashback nightmare. He concluded with the bullet in his leg, the harrowing ascent out of the clearing and his earlier conversation with Bartholomew.

"Unless you did something about Bartholomew's insubordination when you got back to base, I can't see what the problem is. I've decided on one thing, though. Our client is going to go with you in the chopper. I want you to keep an eye on him."

The pilot grimaced, glancing down at his bandaged wrists. "Sure you can trust me to complete that mission?"

Hannibal made eye contact with Murdock before answering. "It'll give you time to talk _and _get him out of the way of what we have to do. Besides, I believe you won't let him get the drop on you again."

The Captain straightened in his seat as he noticed a glint off metal in the sky over the far mountains. "No sir, I won't. I think I see Bart now." He opened the van door to step out, then turned back to give Hannibal an appreciative smile. "Thanks for settin' my mind straight, Colonel."


	9. Chapter 9 The Old Switcheroo

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 9 The Old Switcheroo

Hannibal opened the glove compartment and found a red permanent marker. As the King Air landed, B. A. slowly maneuvered the delivery truck out to the aircraft.

Bartholomew lowered the airstair door and exited the plane, staring at the truck as he did. As he walked toward the vehicle, B. A. stepped out before Face had a chance to open his door.

"You left Murdock in a hurtin' way back there. Don't care 'bout you bein' our client. Nobody messes with my friends like that." B. A.'s fists were clenched as he towered over the shorter man.

The van had barely parked behind the truck when Hannibal and Face rushed toward them. "Stand down, Sergeant!"

B. A. glowered at Bartholomew and stepped back.

With a grim smile, the Colonel nodded at the client. "Good to see you made it back to the United States without being killed. That was a foolish move. I don't need to tell you that we want that weapon you pulled on our pilot. Hand it over."

Bartholomew hesitated and reached into the concealed shoulder holster to remove the revolver.

Face, his own gun pointed at the client, put out one hand and took it, giving it to Hannibal in turn. He pocketed it.

"Now we're going to load the truck. Put all of the boxes with the red dot in the van and the boxes without it in the truck." Hannibal motioned for the client to open the cargo pod door.

"Problems, Colonel?" Murdock, who had been readying the Bell 407 for its cargo, walked up to stand at Hannibal's side. At the sound of the pilot's voice, Bartholomew tensed.

"Not at all, Captain. Just disarming your passenger before your flight. Want to help us load the truck?"

For the next fifteen minutes the five men unloaded the cargo pod of the plane. As soon as the last box was loaded, Hannibal directed B. A. to drive the van to the chopper. Face followed in the truck. Once there, the marked boxes from the van were secured on the floor between the five passenger's seats in the cabin.

"Now if you'll just take a seat, Mr. Bartholomew, this bird is ready to fly. Captain, you know where you're going. Take this walkie-talkie and let us know when you land. As soon as we free Jermaine, we'll get in touch and meet you there." Hannibal stepped back as the Captain climbed into the cockpit and settled into the pilot's seat. The Colonel stood at attention and gave him a salute.

Murdock grinned and returned it."Good luck, Colonel."

Hannibal ducked under the rotor blades and retreated to a safe distance. As the helicopter lifted into the air and Murdock pointed its nose in a westerly direction, he cut loose with a joyous whoop of pure pleasure. Hannibal smiled and returned to the imports truck.

"How are we coming on marking that shipment, Face?"

The conman nodded an okay. He used the red marker to place a half-dollar-sized dot on another box. "Should be ready in another five minutes, Colonel."

Hannibal smiled and strolled around to where B. A. was rigging explosive charges in the front end of the truck. "Put two in those boxes back there, then re-tape them. I want Whitman to think his shipment is destroyed when we blow those pinatas."

"Gotcha, Hannibal." The demolitions expert focused his attention on the wiring he was connecting to the underside of the dashboard panel on the driver's side. The front passenger's seat held three separate detonation devices.

"Hopefully, the element of surprise will be on our side." The Colonel chewed on the end of his cigar as he envisioned his plan.

Twenty minutes later, the two vehicles were ready to hit the road, B. A. driving the van and Face and Hannibal in the truck. Walkie-talkies in both vehicles kept the men in close communication as they left the airport for the Bermuda Dunes warehouse.

"Hannibal to B. A. Come in. Over." The Colonel held the walkie-talkie and glanced back at the van via the truck's side mirror.

"B. A. What's up, Colonel? Over."

"When we get to the turnoff to the warehouse, try to find a location where you can watch what's going on but not be seen. We'll wait until you do and then go in. As soon as all eighteen boxes are unloaded and Face and I are inside, I want you to wait two minutes and then detonate the explosives in the truck. When Whitman and his guys come out, Face and I'll detonate the explosives in the boxes. Got that? Over."

"You just make sure you outta the way when that cargo blows, man. Over." Even without a visual reference, the two men could hear the worry in B. A.'s voice.

"I fully intend to be on our way out of there when that happens, Sergeant. Hannibal, over and out." The Colonel leaned back in the seat and smiled. Face glanced at Hannibal and shook his head. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. They'll be so busy in damage control, we should be able to grab the kid and get out of there before they know we're missing."

"Howlin' Mad One to Hannibal. You hearin' me? Over."

"Hannibal here." The Colonel sat straighter as he brought the walkie-talkie back up to talk to his pilot. "Any problems with the cargo or passenger? Over."

"Not a one, sir. Parked the bird in that clearin' I saw before. Gonna cool our heels and wait for your orders. Over." Murdock's voice crackled over the speaker.

"I don't need to tell you to keep Bartholomew in your sight at all times. We'll let you know when we're clear and on our way. Over."

"Gotcha." Murdock paused, then added, "Ya'll be careful, okay? Over."

"You too, Captain. Over and out."


	10. Chapter 10 Delivery

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 10 Delivery

"Found a spot close by where I gotta good view of the front door. Ready when you are, Colonel. Over."

Hannibal acknowledged B. A.'s message and nodded to Face. "Drive on, Lieutenant."

"You know, I'm a little worried about the plan, Colonel. Seems to me like we're possibly surrendering ourselves to a firing squad. I sure hope when B. A. blows up this truck, there's enough commotion for us to get the kid out of there."

"Well, we'll be finding out shortly. Park the truck in front of the warehouse bay doors." The Colonel noted one of Whitman's men duck inside a smaller door as the truck neared the building. Face slowed to a stop where he was directed, put the vehicle in park and switched off the engine.

Seconds later, a trio of men with guns preceded Whitman out of the same door as the watchman had entered.

"We got a welcoming committee. Let them make the moves for now." Hannibal waited, scrutinizing the four men as they advanced toward the truck.

Whitman gestured and one of his men reached up and opened Hannibal's door. "Alright you, get out slowly. Tell your driver friend to do the same." Another of Whitman's thugs circled the front end of the vehicle to cover Face as he opened the door.

Hannibal reached toward the inner pocket of his jacket. Narrowing his eyes, Whitman pulled his own revolver and leveled it at the Colonel. "No funny business."

Smith pulled out a cigar and gave the imports businessman a broad grin. "You wouldn't begrudge me a smoke, now would you? Especially since we brought you your Mexican shipment straight from the airport." The Colonel bit the tip off the cigar, spit it onto the ground and lit the end with a lighter from his pants pocket.

Whitman scowled and motioned for two of his men to escort Face and Hannibal to the back of the truck. The businessman followed. "Open it!"

After Hannibal obeyed the command, one of Whitman's men climbed up into the cargo space and checked the boxes while Whitman paced back and forth. "The red dot is on all of them, boss."

"Alright, so where's the rest of the shipment? The boxes without the marks?" Whitman walked up to the Colonel and glared into his amused eyes.

"I'm afraid this is all that was on the plane. Maybe your invoice is wrong?" Hannibal suggested and received a fist in his stomach for the comment. He doubled over in pain but didn't make a sound.

"The two of you unload the boxes into the warehouse. My men'll see that you do it right." Whitman turned away and stalked to the smaller door.

Face grabbed a box and handed it to the Colonel who was straightening up and gingerly holding his abdomen. "Thanks, kid."

As soon as the Colonel entered the warehouse through the open bay doors, he glanced around. Bartholomew's son was not difficult to locate.

Hannibal frowned. Something was not right about the loose security around Jermaine. The gaunt kid stood, propping himself against a wall. He hunched with his arms wrapped around himself. Two of Whitman's men relaxed and shared jokes on either side of him. As soon as he saw the box in the Colonel's arms, the kid wobbled toward Whitman.

"Y-you s-said, soon as m-my old man d-delivered, I could have it." Jermaine addressed him in a desperate tone.

The import merchant snorted. "Deal's off, kid. Your pop stiffed me on half the merchandise. Can't be sure this half of the shipment is what it's supposed to be either."

"Y-you said . . ." the kid wailed. Two of Whitman's men grabbed Jermaine by his skinny arms and pushed him roughly onto a folding chair.

Hannibal deposited his box near a back wall and walked back to the truck for another. As he passed Face, on his way into the warehouse with another box, he muttered, "Bartholomew's kid's in withdrawal. Heroin maybe. Our mission just became a little more difficult."

Except for a slight widening of his eyes and a small nod, Face acted as though the Colonel had not spoken to him. He stole a glance at Jermaine as he made his way back to the bay door from stacking his box on top of the one Hannibal had left.

As the two men passed each other again, Face raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question. "Stick to the plan," the Colonel whispered.

On another trip back to the truck, Face murmured, "I count six guys total." Hannibal nodded toward a door in the back of the warehouse near the shipment they were unloading. Through inconspicuous glances, minute gestures and whispers Hannibal and Face managed to pass information to each other without being noticed by their guards.

After a few more trips back and forth, the two men had stacked all eighteen boxes in a corner of the warehouse. Whitman sauntered over to the shipment and took out a switchblade from his pants pocket. He motioned for his men to usher Jermaine, Face and Hannibal to a location a few feet away.

"Now we'll see what our friends have brought us." Opening the blade, Whitman slashed along the packing tape and removed a plastic sealed pinata from one of the boxes.

Face held his breath as the import merchant ripped the covering off the brightly colored papier mache donkey.

As Whitman poised his blade to slice through the outer layer of the pinata, a deafening explosion outside shook the warehouse.


	11. Chapter 11 The Ugly Truth

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 11 The Ugly Truth

"I don't need to tell you to keep Bartholomew in your sight at all times. We'll let you know when we're clear and on our way. Over."

"Gotcha." Murdock paused, then added, "Ya'll be careful, okay? Over."

"You too, Captain. Over and out."

The pilot felt rather than saw Bart's eyes boring into him as he finished the conversation with Hannibal over the walkie-talkie.

"I sure hope your Colonel knows what he's doing." The ex-gunner crossed his arms over his chest and muttered his complaint under his breath.

"Hannibal had the best Special Forces record over in Nam for gettin' his guys in 'n' out of ugly situations. Don't you worry none 'bout them." Murdock reached across and placed his hand on Bart's upper arm. When the black man looked at him, the pilot smiled. His lowered voice was filled with concerned understanding. "They'll get your kid back. Trust me. Whitman won't win."

Bartholomew studied the pilot's face for any doubts. Seeing none, he changed the subject. "You still do that insane whoop when you take to the air, don't you? Man, that used to unnerve me."

"Well, they didn't call me Howlin' Mad for nothin', ya know." Murdock's eyes clouded and he stared absently at the helicopter gauges in front of him. "Helped me do the crazy stuff I had to do. Got so much fear built up inside me sometimes, it had to escape somehow. It was that or let the VC kill us all."

The pilot didn't see the surprise in Bartholomew's face as he said those words. The Captain had closed his eyes in an effort to repress the worst of his memories. A frown appeared as he squeezed his eyes tighter and grimaced. Bartholomew began to reach over to the pilot in sympathy.

He quickly withdrew his hand when Murdock shuddered slightly and opened his eyes.

"Course now, it's prob'ly more out of habit and the thrill of flyin' than anythin' else." He glanced at Bart. "You enjoy flyin', too, don'tcha?" When he saw the beginnings of a smile on Bart's face, he grinned and nodded. "Thought so."

The two men relaxed for a few minutes before Bart broke the silence.

"Listen, Captain. This afternoon we were talking about that thing we witnessed back in Nam. Well, you aren't the only one with questions, you know." The ex-gunner swallowed, a grim expression on his face.

Murdock straightened in his seat. Bart could see his muscles tense and his eyes take on a tormented look. The pilot drew in a shaky breath and released it in a strained "Yeah?"

"I've been thinking about what you said earlier. How you said you didn't remember me or Jase Hammett being there. How you said you didn't remember what Connors and his guys did until he attacked you at the VA hospital. What _do_ you remember about the trip back to base camp?" Bartholomew could see the internal struggle playing itself out in Murdock's expression. He was trying to remember but feared the memory at the same time.

Finally Murdock mastered his internal demons and managed a shrug. "Nothin'. I don't know why but my memories after that are like patches here and there, like moths ate away at my mind 'til there was mostly a spider web of threads holdin' it together."

Bartholomew hesitated, then spoke in a hushed voice. "When you said we almost didn't get out of there, I thought you remembered. For years and years, I thought _you_ remembered because _I_ did. I was a fool."

"Do I _want_ to remember, Bart?" Murdock's laugh was bitter and mirthless. "If you tell me what happened, can you promise the nightmares'll go 'way?"

"No."

"Will it explain the bad blood between us?"

"Maybe."

"Is there still bad blood between us?"

"I don't know, Captain. I don't know."

Murdock shut his eyes again against the words that needed to be said. "Might as well spill it then 'n' let me sort it out later with my shrink."

Bartholomew flinched when Murdock said the word "shrink." The ex-gunner had not accepted that route to inner healing for himself. Maybe he wasn't as mentally sound as he thought he was. Or maybe the Captain had much more to be repaired after the war.

He wished the Captain would open his eyes and look at him while he was talking. Maybe it wouldn't cause so much pain for either of them if he did. But Murdock showed no signs of wanting to establish eye contact.

"You lifted us out of there but not before your entire cockpit window was shattered. Jase took one in the shoulder. You had a bullet in the leg. Both of you were hurting pretty bad. You got us out of there, though. That return to base camp was a nightmare."

Murdock interrupted with a small frown. "Wait a minute. Both Jase and me took bullets. What 'bout you? You were our _gunner! _What about _you?_"

"Don't you think I wondered that at the time? The nearest I can figure is they thought if they could knock our bird out of the sky, they would have no living witnesses. I've lived with that just as you've lived with the memories that put you in the VA hospital psychiatric ward." Bart spat the last sentence at Murdock with the accumulated venom of years of anger and bitterness.

The pilot winced but once again mastered whatever emotion was clawing to gain control. "Fair enough. Go on."

"You and Jase were hurting so bad your approach to base camp was not the smoothest. You were saying crazy things all the way back but toward the end was the worst. You thought base camp was a VC outpost. Then you went silent. Just as I thought you'd put the chopper down in one piece, the nose dipped down. We were still about thirty feet from the ground. Something went wrong because we accelerated and crashed nose first into a Medivac chopper about to take off." Bart paused for an unsteady breath and glanced at Murdock. The Captain was glassy-eyed, the words registering slowly in his mind.

"How . . . many injured? How many . . .?" He couldn't finish the question but turned to Bart his eyes wide and horrified.

"I came out of that with a broken arm. You and Jase were in critical condition, both of you with concussions and internal injuries besides the gunshot wounds. Had a helluva time extracting you. Jase was sent home after he healed enough."

"The Medivac crew?" Murdock's voice was a hoarse whisper.

"They never knew what hit them. All four died instantly." A small whimper came from the pilot's direction and Bart paused to look.

The Captain had his hands up to his head, palms against his temples, long fingers rigidly extended as if he was afflicted by a sudden blinding migraine. His teeth were clenched and short ragged breaths left his mouth. The rest of his body was trembling violently as he remembered the crash. He shook his head back and forth to dislodge the memory as a terrified drawn out "Nooo . . ." escaped his lips.

"Captain! Captain Murdock!" Bart reached out in panic and gripped the pilot by his shoulder. Murdock shook him off and blindly staggered from the chopper. He sank to the ground on hands and knees as he vomited the contents of his stomach onto the grass.

It was then that the walkie-talkie crackled to life with B. A.'s voice on the other end.

"Howlin' Mad One? Come in, Murdock. Over."


	12. Chapter 12 Break Away

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 12 Break Away

"Dom, Felipe, watch them!" Whitman passed his orders back over his shoulder as he and his other men ran to the front of the warehouse. The two thugs drew their weapons and positioned themselves in front of the stack of boxes.

Face glanced toward Hannibal. They stood on either side of Bartholomew's son facing the two strongmen and could hear angry shouts from the vicinity of the truck.

"Hey, can I at least relight my cigar?" Hannibal removed the cigar from his mouth and gestured with it.

One of the two thugs snorted and nodded.

The Colonel grinned at Face and reached into his pocket. "One of the best cigars I've ever had. Shame to waste it. Right, kid?" He made a quick sideways glance at Jermaine and then at Face. The conman gave a quick nod. A second later Hannibal yelled, "Now!"

Whitman's men were thrown to either side with the blast that followed. Their weapons dropped and skittered across the floor with the impact.

Face grabbed the kid and leaped backward. Hannibal landed on his stomach beside them. The explosion had ripped apart one section of the wall of boxes. The conman yanked the second detonator from his own pocket while Hannibal hurried to grab both of the guns from the floor.

The Colonel and Lieutenant jerked Jermaine to his feet and ran for the rear door as Face's finger pressed the button. A second blast shredded the remaining boxes and sent brightly colored confetti and bits of pinatas into the air.

Hannibal kicked the door open and they scrambled outside into the brush closest to the building. Once there, the Colonel pressed one of the weapons into Face's free hand.

They half-carried the kid through the weeds and undergrowth toward the road. Already, Whitman was shouting at his men, directing them to find and bring the three of them back alive.

Within seconds, Hannibal and Face heard a vehicle speeding down the warehouse service road toward them.

"That's B. A.! He must have heard the other two explosions. Run!" Hannibal yelled.

Face grabbed the kid by his arm and dragged him toward the van, just visible through the cloud of dust it raised. He focused on getting the kid into the back seat of the van. Hannibal paused every few paces to turn and fire at Whitman's men.

B. A. stopped the vehicle. He opened his door and tumbled out, using the front of the van as a shield as he fired a Ruger Mini-14 toward the back door of the warehouse. Whitman's men dove for cover, shooting at the escaping prisoners from a prone position.

When Hannibal, Face and Jermaine reached the van, B. A. laid down a final round of fire over the heads of the thugs and jumped in.

The Colonel climbed in the front seat and fired some parting shots. "Let's go, B. A.!"

B. A. made a sharp U-turn and floored the accelerator. Gunshots spattered around the van, stripping leaves from bushes and spitting dirt up in small puffs. The burly driver squealed the tires as he turned onto the main road and sped south hoping to hook up with State Highway 111.

"See anyone following, B. A.?" The Colonel reloaded his gun and glanced in the rear view mirror.

"Not yet, Hannibal. We might not either. I skirted 'round the metal traps I set in the drive on the way out. I don't think they woulda seen 'em. They'll be changin' flat tires 'fore they can follow us."

"Good thinking, Sergeant."

Turning to the back seat, Hannibal scrutinized Jermaine. The kid's hand was wrapped in a dirty gray rag with a large dark red spot staining it. He was skinny and trembling and sweating so much his shirt was soaked. "Mind telling us what kind of drugs you're doing, kid? It would be good for us to know what to expect when you're going through withdrawal."

"None of your business." The kid wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve and fidgeted in the back seat.

Face gripped the kid's arm and shook it. "Listen. We just risked our lives to get you away from the guys that cut off your finger. Do you really think you were better off with them?"

Jermaine refused to answer. "I s'pose you're gonna take me back to my father." The contempt in his voice as he said the last word drew a sharp look from B. A.

"Kid needs to learn some respect, Hannibal," B. A. muttered under his breath to the Colonel.

Hannibal shook his head to silence the driver. "We have to let Murdock know we're coming."

"I tried to raise 'im soon as you started movin' the boxes inside. He didn't answer. Couldn't tell you 'til now." B. A. frowned. "Sorry, Colonel."

Smith picked up the walkie talkie, concern etched across his face. The Lieutenant leaned closer to the gap between the front two seats so he could listen better.

"If anythin' happened to that crazy man, Colonel . . ." B. A. shook his head.

"Hannibal to Howling Mad. Come in."

Static crackled over the walkie talkie.

"Howling Mad One, come in."

"Smith, is that you? Over."

"Bartholomew? Where's Captain Murdock? Over."

"Smith, do you have my son? Over."

"He's here. Over."

"Take State Highway 74, the Pines to Palms Highway, until you see the Morris Ranch Road. After about three or four miles you'll see the overlook for Lake Honor. We're in a clearing near there. Over."

"Got that. Bartholomew, where's Captain Murdock? Over."

There was a pause. "He's here but he's in pretty bad shape. I'm not sure what to do for him. Over."

"We'll be there as soon as we can. Smith, over and out." Hannibal stared out the window as B. A. accelerated.


	13. Chapter 13 Emergency

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

AN: I had to make the meeting place a little further down the road since a map indicated the original spot would have placed the guys on private property owned by the Girl Scout Council! Hope the change doesn't mess you up too much. Sorry.

Chapter 13 Emergency

All the way to the Lake Honor overlook, B. A. grumbled. Having to maneuver around tourists on the Pines to Palms Highway forced him to reduce speed. More than once he snapped, "Outta the way, sucka," as he passed a slower-moving RV.

Face had all he could do to keep Jermaine warm and under control. The kid was shuddering with constant chills and complained of aching joints and muscles. Once, in his increasing agitation from withdrawal, he pushed past the Lieutenant to try to open the side door and jump out.

"Bartholomew to Smith. Come in." The walkie talkie came to life on the dashboard and Hannibal picked it up quickly.

"Smith here."

"Once you get to the road that goes in to the Lake Honor site you keep going until you hit national forest land again. You're looking for the Cedar Spring trail-head. Do you copy?"

"Got it. The Cedar Spring trail-head. What's Captain Murdock's status?"

There was a pause of several seconds before the ex-gunner answered. When he did, his words were preceded by a moan from somewhere in the background. "Just get here. Bring whatever you have as far as a medical kit. The chopper's about a hundred feet in from the road. We're four hundred feet further. Over and out."

Hannibal frowned and set the walkie talkie back on the dashboard.

"Colonel." Face gripped his arm in worry for his best friend.

Hannibal turned in his seat to acknowledge the younger man's concern. "We don't know for certain what happened. Let's get there first and assess the situation before we panic. Just make sure Jermaine is ready to hike in to see his father. Get out the first aid kit, too."

"You heard him, kid. Get ready to walk." Face began to rummage in the back of the van for medical supplies. He added two Army blankets to the first aid kit and other materials.

B. A. gripped the steering wheel tighter and glared in the rear view mirror at Bartholomew's son. His expression, like that of Face's, communicated how much they wished Hannibal had never accepted this mission. Not if it came at a cost this high.

Several minutes passed with each man silent with his own thoughts. When they finally arrived at the trail-head, Face was the first out of the van. He handed the backpack with the medical supplies and first aid kit to Hannibal and took the blankets under his arm.

Reaching out to Jermaine, he yanked him across the seat. "Come on, kid. My friend's in trouble and I've got to get to him."

Face started down the trail with the kid, Hannibal following and B. A. trailing behind. After only a minute on the trail, Hannibal spotted and pointed out the helicopter in a small clearing to their right.

A few minutes later, Face heard Bart's voice and an agonized groan. "Over there, Colonel." He pointed to a brushy area with boulders piercing the surface of the ground around it.

The Lieutenant dropped Jermaine's arm and picked his way as quickly as he could toward the sounds. He was followed closely by Hannibal with the medical supplies.

B. A. gripped the client's son by his collar and gave him an eye-to-eye stony glare when the kid squirmed. Growling, he half-dragged him over the rough terrain where Face had gone. "I don' know what you been into, man, but now's the time of reckonin' with your pop. Me 'n' the guys got a buddy to take care of."

As soon as B. A. saw the condition Murdock was in, he pushed Jermaine toward their client and moved quickly to help Face. The Lieutenant was at the pilot's side, taking his pulse. He raised each closed eyelid in turn, checking his pupils. The area around the pilot's left eye was darkening and swelling. Blood was flowing from a deep gash across his cheekbone. A large purplish bruise above his brow had formed into a lump the size of half a tangerine. His breaths were faint and uneven and an occasional tremor passed through his body. B. A. unfolded one of the blankets and draped it over the lower half of Murdock's body.

Hannibal seethed with anger as he glared at the black man. His words were sharp and fierce."Explain to me how Captain Murdock got into this condition, Mr. Bartholomew. Your answer had better be a good one."

One arm around his son, the ex-gunner ran a hand through his hair and shook his head in confusion. "He wanted me to talk about our last mission together. I told him the truth and he went berserk. He stumbled out of the chopper and while I tried to answer the call over the walkie talkie, he ran. I had to tackle him to keep him from going too far and getting lost or hurting himself. He hit his head pretty hard on one of the rocks."

"You did know he has been a patient in the psychiatric ward of a VA hospital, didn't you?" Hannibal's voice was cold as he regarded their client.

"Yes, the Captain told me. But he asked. He thought it would clear up some things between us." Bartholomew looked down at the pilot, horrified at what he had witnessed.

"Even his doctor is careful with how much he helps Murdock remember at one time. Those sessions are highly controlled in an environment where he can't hurt himself. When the memories are extremely painful, Murdock has to be restrained. What made you think you could dredge up the past with him without having something like this happen?"

"I didn't know. This was the last thing I wanted to happen." The client's words were punctuated by a soft moan from the pilot as Face applied sterile gauze to the gash on his cheek. Jermaine pulled away from Bartholomew and edged backward along the path they had taken.

"No, you don't, kid." B. A. twisted Jermaine's arm behind his back and forced him to sit on the ground. "The day of reckonin'. Remember, man? _Your_ day of reckonin'."

"What does he mean?" Bartholomew's attention was drawn to his son. For the first time, he seemed to notice the gaunt frame, restless motions and runny nose. His eyes widened in alarm. Jermaine stared at him with chilling hatred as the encounter between father and son loomed.


	14. Chapter 14 A Team Decisiion

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 14 A Team Decision

Hannibal's original plan was simple. They would plant the boxes of illegal merchandise with one of the pinatas opened up to reveal its contents somewhere outside Whitman's office. Bart would call in an anonymous tip about the shipment while Hannibal called Whitman offering to sell him back his cargo. They would meet at the office. It would have to be timed just right but he was confident the team could pin Whitman and his men down until the police arrived. The police would discover the boxes clearly labeled Tesoro de Mexicana Imports and all containing whatever illegal content Whitman was so anxious to possess. Simple.

Hannibal rubbed his eyes with one hand and tried to think. Three things competed for his immediate attention. All three were obstacles to the completion of the plan. All three were important.

Jermaine was in withdrawal from a powerful drug and refused to tell any of them what he had been using. Hannibal speculated it might be heroin. He had seen his share of soldiers in Nam who had descended into that dragon's hell hole of addiction.

The kid was unpredictable and had to be carefully watched or he would run away. Bartholomew might have to place his son in a drug rehabilitation program eventually but in the meantime, withdrawal was not going to be pretty. The kid had to have medical attention for the stump that remained from his severed finger. It could become infected.

There was an ugly dynamic to the relationship between Jermaine and his father. The Colonel guessed Bart had been so busy building his tour and rental business and fueling his bitterness from whatever happened during the war that he had neglected the needs of his own offspring. It happened way too often. Someone would have to help the man understand what was going on with his son.

Most pressing on Hannibal's mind was Murdock's mental and physical condition. He was injured badly. He still had not regained consciousness long enough to identify the people around him. When asked simple questions like "What's your name?" or "Do you know where you are?" his answers were slurred and barely understandable.

Hannibal knew the pilot should not be moved but he could not remain where he was. He required more medical attention than any of them could provide, and that was just to care for his physical needs. The Colonel didn't want to guess what kind of mental trauma resulted from Bart's conversation with Murdock and what would have to be done to heal him internally.

There was a big problem with enlisting the aid of medical personnel to take care of Murdock. If the pilot should become conscious enough to regain his speech would he be aware enough of his surroundings to remain silent about the rest of the team? The last thing they wanted was to dodge Decker or the local police while waiting for Murdock to heal.

Hannibal had never had to struggle with a decision so much in his life. He was a man who always established a course of action quickly and stayed the course despite the odds. But this decision involved Murdock's life.

"Face, I have to lay something out for you and I want your input." The Colonel knelt on the other side from where the Lieutenant was tending the pilot's wounds. "After I ask you, I'll ask B. A. For now, I want him to keep an eye on our client and his son."

"What is it, Colonel?" Hannibal couldn't help but notice the stress in Face's voice.

"Murdock needs the care a trauma center can provide. We aren't equipped to handle severe brain injury." Hannibal heard the Lieutenant's sharp intake of breath as he said the last three words but continued. "I thought we could call in his location and get a paramedic team out here to stabilize him and get him into the hospital."

"He's my best friend. I can't just leave him out here, hoping they find him and can do something for him. I _can_ and _will_ see him through this. He'd do the same for me." Face narrowed his eyes at the Colonel and set his mouth in a determined line. "Besides, he could talk about us to the wrong people without fully knowing he's doing it."

"I thought you'd say that. So your answer is to wait it out and see if his condition improves?"

Face gave Hannibal a quick nod and turned his attention back to his friend.

_I've got to give him credit for his loyalty. I wouldn't have expected anything less from him._

Hannibal stood and walked over to where B. A. towered over Jermaine, preventing him from scrambling back down the trail.

"B. A., I'll pose the same question to you that I asked Face. A trauma center is prepared to treat head injuries like Murdock has. We aren't. All we can do is keep him still and watch him to be sure his condition doesn't worsen." Hannibal noted B. A.'s scowl and balled up fists. He knew what the Sergeant would say even before he posed the question. "We can direct the paramedics to this location through an anonymous call and have them give him the medical help he needs. It would require us to leave him here alone until they get here."

"Can't do that, Colonel. Crazy man wouldn't leave any of us to fend for ourselves 'n' you know it. Needs his family with him when he comes 'round."

"Alright, B. A." Hannibal put a gloved hand on his shoulder and nodded his understanding of the deeper emotion the black man disguised with his gruff tone.

"Face, we're going to leave you and Murdock here for a few minutes while we remove the cargo from the helicopter and pack it in the van." The Colonel turned to Bartholomew. "Once we get the merchandise in the van, we will be trying to move Captain Murdock to the chopper. If you can think of some way to do that without causing further injury, I'd appreciate it."

The client squinted in the direction of Face and Murdock. In a hushed voice, he asked, "Do you think he'll be alright, Colonel? I need to tell him something when he's able to hear it."

Hannibal looked back at the pilot and the Lieutenant before answering. "I hope so, Mr. Bartholomew."


	15. Chapter 15 Moving Out

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

AN: A little strong language but not much.

Chapter 15 Moving Out

Jermaine proved to be more of a hindrance than a help when B. A., Hannibal and Bart arrived at the chopper to unload it. A sullen scowl on his face, he plopped down on the ground near the helicopter and refused to move. He clutched his knees with his arms and glared at B. A. when he grabbed his collar to lift him to his feet.

"I'll take over, B. A. Help Bartholomew get that merchandise to the van." As the two men left the clearing, each bearing a box, Hannibal folded his arms and stood in front of the surly teenager. "Look, kid, it's no secret you have an attitude as well as a drug problem. Hell, for all I know Whitman's your supplier and you're trying to keep the supply line open."

Jermaine snorted and looked away into the bushes.

"Your father tried to do the right thing, coming to us to rescue you from Whitman. We're going the extra step and making sure your dealer friend doesn't continue to supply kids like you with drugs. You don't have much choice in that. You do have a choice in deciding to get clean." The Colonel heard Bart and B. A. returning to the chopper behind him.

"Not many places out here you can run to, kid. You can sit there and stew in your problems or you can get up and help move these boxes. I have a man down back there and right now, I don't give a rat's ass what you think or want. You try to run and I'll make sure you don't wake up until your father lands this bird at his airfield." Hannibal growled the last words at Jermaine and jabbed a finger at him. "That's a promise."

The kid squinted up at the Colonel, then shrugged and swayed to his feet. He pushed past the Colonel on his way to the chopper to pick up a box. "Thought you'd see it my way." Hannibal grasped a box and followed Jermaine down the path toward the van.

With four people hauling the load, the remainder of the boxes were stashed away in a few minutes.

Bart touched Hannibal on the arm as they returned to the clearing. "I've been thinking, Colonel Smith. You see that fallen tree over there? What if we used two of the sturdier branches as poles and lashed one of those blankets to them? We would have to be careful moving Captain Murdock onto the blanket but then he could be carried to the chopper."

The Colonel nodded his approval. "B. A., you heard what we need." The Sergeant walked over to examine the fallen tree as Hannibal gestured for Bart to move closer. "When you fly this bird out of here, I'll be in the back with Murdock. I'll have all I can do to monitor his vital signs. You were in Nam. You saw guys going through withdrawal. Your kid will have to go back in the van with someone to watch him. Neither of us will be able to."

The ex-gunner gritted his teeth and glanced toward his son. "I understand." He turned his gaze to the Colonel. "I didn't thank you yet for getting my son back. It's going to be a difficult few days or weeks but I won't give up on him."

Hannibal patted him on the shoulder and moved past him to the trail. "I need to check on Murdock. When B. A. gets those branches ready, tell him to bring them back to us. In the meantime, you might try to talk to your son while you can."

As he neared the location where they found Murdock, the Colonel heard Face talking to the pilot about their escape from Whitman. Was he finally responsive?

Hannibal's spirits sank again when he stepped around the brush concealing them from his view. Murdock was in no better condition than when they left him. His face had become ashen and his eye was swelled shut. The lump above his brow had not grown but had become an alarming blackened bruise. Blood continued to soak through the gauze on his cheek. His shallow and irregular breathing had not improved.

Face glanced up and somberly shook his head. "He wakes up for a few seconds but his eyes don't focus. He says a few words before he slips away again. One of the things he keeps saying is 'my fault.' What do you make of it, Colonel?"

Hannibal frowned and knelt beside the pilot. He could not answer his Lieutenant's concerned question. "Captain, I want you to try to focus on my voice. We're going to move you to the chopper soon. We don't have a choice. You need to stay with us. Keep fighting to stay awake."

Murdock's eyelids fluttered open and his confused gaze fell on Hannibal. "Colonel . . . " His words were a raspy whisper. "They're dead . . . all dead . . ." His eyelids closed and he swallowed.

"Captain, I gave you an order." Hannibal grimaced as he made his tone harsher. The pilot struggled to open his eyes.

"I . . . crashed . . . " Something between a sob and a whimper escaped his lips.

B. A. came near, two long branches over one shoulder and a coil of rope in his hand. His forehead creased with worry when he looked down at Murdock and then at each of the other men in turn.

"Put the poles over there next to each other, Sergeant. Face, you're going to attach the blanket to the branches and make something to carry him to the chopper. You and B. A. work on that and I'll try to keep him awake and talking." The Colonel directed his attention back to Murdock. "Captain, the chopper didn't crash. Bartholomew is going to fly you out of here in it."

The pilot softly sighed and forced his eyes open again. "Bart . . . they died . . . my fault . . . "

"No one died, Captain. No one. Bart tackled you and you hit your head. Do you understand?" Hannibal put one hand on Murdock's upper arm. His tone was persistent but gentle.

". . . crashed . . . I'm sorry . . . " A slight tremor passed through the pilot's body. His gaze became distant and unfocused.

"We're ready, Hannibal." Face laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Bring it right next to him. Make a pillow of that other blanket. His head and shoulders should be elevated a little. B. A., you take his legs. Face, take his upper body. On the count of three, we transfer him over to the carrier." Hannibal slipped his hands in position under the pilot's head and neck for support against further injury. "One . . . two . . . three."

Murdock gasped and squeezed his eyes shut as the transfer was made.

"You still with us, Captain? Stay awake. We're going to get you to the chopper now." Hannibal gave his men a solemn look and gestured for them to pick up the carrier and move out down the trail. They could not delay any longer.


	16. Chapter 16 Doctor Call

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

AN: All characters not mentioned on The A Team television series are characters I made up. Any resemblance to living people is purely accidental and unintended. As far as I know, there is no Dr. Hernandez associated with Desert Regional Medical Center in Palm Springs.

Chapter 16 Doctor Call

Bartholomew offered the headset in the passenger cabin to Hannibal but the Colonel declined.

"I would love to talk on our way back to the airfield but Captain Murdock's condition has to be monitored. We'll find a time after we take care of Whitman for good."

Bart paused, gazed sadly at the battered face of the Captain and silently closed the helicopter's cabin door.

Hannibal knelt beside the litter on which Murdock rested. He suspected his knees would be screaming in pain later but the pilot kept drifting in and out of consciousness when he couldn't see the Colonel's face or hear his voice. He knew instinctively that the pilot might not wake up if he fell into a deep sleep.

"We're in the chopper now and heading back to base. Focus, Captain. Talk to me." Hannibal fiercely swiped his eyes with a hand. "Dammit, Captain, fight!"

Murdock stirred as soon as Bart started up the helicopter and the rotor blades began rotating. He tried to open his unbruised eye but couldn't. "Colonel . . . I don't . . . wanna die. " He reached out and weakly sought Hannibal's hand.

The Colonel gripped the pilot's hand and squeezed it tightly. "You're stronger than that, Murdock. I'm ordering you to stay alive, Captain." Hannibal swallowed to get control of his emotions.

Pulling rank was the only way to prevent Murdock from drifting away. The Colonel drew in a deep breath and strove for a stern all-business tone. "Report, Captain."

As soon as Bart landed the chopper and switched off everything, he hurried to the cabin door to look in on his passengers. The van would not arrive for another 45 minutes.

When the cabin door opened, Murdock flinched. He whispered "my fault" and struggled to look at Bart through cloudy vision. The ex-gunner frowned, shook his head and drew in breath to say something but was interrupted by Hannibal.

"Do you have a place in the hangar we can make Captain Murdock comfortable, Mr. Bartholomew?" Hannibal trained his unsmiling gaze on their client.

"I have an old Army cot I sometimes use when I pull an all-nighter working on one of my birds. I'll go set it up." He turned to go, then hesitated. "I know a doctor friend at Desert Regional in Palm Springs. He owes me one and I could call him. If I talk to him, he will be discreet about your identity. Like I said, he owes me a big one."

Hannibal's jaw muscles twitched as he stared down at Murdock and considered Bart's offer. "We don't have much choice. The fewer people involved, the better. Make the call and then we'll move the Captain to the hangar."

By the time the van parked at the airfield, Murdock had been transferred to the cot in the hangar and made as comfortable as possible. Doctor Hernandez from Desert Regional had arrived minutes before and was already examining his patient.

The doctor glanced up at Hannibal and Bartholomew with a disapproving look. "I can not make a thorough examination of the extent of any injury to the skull or the brain. This man should be in the hospital."

"I already explained the situation to you, Manny. This man goes in and you'll have military police swarming the facility and making everyone's life miserable." Bart's tone was firm and unyielding.

"He's right, doc. If at all possible, any medical care has to be done right here." Hannibal's flinty glare and crossed arms convinced Doctor Hernandez. He shook his head and returned his attention to Murdock.

Face opened the door to the hangar and squinted to allow his vision to adjust to the darker interior. He was followed by B. A. who gripped Jermaine by his shoulder. Hannibal gestured for the two men to hang back, an order Face wrestled with but obeyed grudgingly.

When the doctor stood to address the Colonel and Bart, his expression was grim. "I don't believe he has a skull fracture but he may have moderate brain injury. He responds when I apply pressure to the supra-orbital foramen under his right eyebrow and likewise when I press my nail into the skin below his fingernail. His reflexes appear normal. You told me he's been speaking but his words indicate confusion and disorientation. He's opened his eyes when spoken to. That could just be his military training."

Hannibal stared down at his feet, realizing the doctor was correct with his last statement. What the Colonel thought was a promising sign might have simply been a disciplined ingrained response. Deep within, he cursed their team decision to bypass the trauma center.

"Some promising signs. He is not vomiting and there is no apparent cerebral-spinal fluid leakage. Someone will have to stay with him and check his responses every half hour to an hour for eight hours. Keep his head elevated at about a thirty degree angle. If he becomes agitated, you may have to give him a mild sedative. Under no circumstances should he move around until I say so."

Doctor Hernandez scrutinized each of the four men to be sure they understood. His gaze fell on Jermaine and the blood-soaked rag wrapped around his hand. The symptoms of drug withdrawal did not escape his attention. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Bart.

"My next patient?"


	17. Chapter 17 What the Pinata Revealed

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 17 What the Pinata Revealed

Even now, the kid simmered with deep resentment that his secret had been discovered and he would be forced into rehabilitation. He ached all over and could not still his tremors. Maybe the men watching him would leave him alone if he wasn't shaking so badly. Then there would be opportunity. They did not know about his stash . . . yet.

As he examined Jermaine's hand, Doctor Hernandez listened carefully to Hannibal's suspicions about the kid's appearance, behavior and possible drug use. His eyes narrowed and he clenched his teeth when he heard about Whitman's special shipment.

"The local police have been trying to figure out how the dealers around here have been getting their supply for months. I wonder who flew down to Mexico for him before you, Bart?" The doctor applied antiseptic to the cleaned finger stump and covered it with sterile gauze.

Bart scowled. "Not sure I want to know, Manny. He needs to be shut down. Colonel Smith and his men intend to do just that."

The doctor's eyes flashed with determination. "What can I do to help?"

Hannibal felt for a new cigar in his pocket, looked at the doctor and thought better of it. "We could use an extra hand to watch Jermaine and Captain Murdock and call in an anonymous tip. If the kid goes to the hospital, there will be questions about where he got the drugs. Not sure that would be wise until Whitman has been arrested."

"I'm actually on vacation for about a week so I'm all yours, gentlemen." Doctor Hernandez spread his hands in a gesture of willingness.

"As much as I would like Face, B. A. or myself to care for Captain Murdock, we can not ask either of you to risk your lives to bring Whitman to justice. We have to be the ones to do that. We know how to dodge any bullets they send our way and we have the firepower to give them back as much as they give."

Hannibal glanced over to the cot where Murdock lay with an IV inserted in his arm and a cold pack over the bruised lump above his eye.

Face was sitting beside his friend speaking to him in a low voice. Murdock's periods of consciousness were longer and more frequent but his few whispered words were still focused on whatever memory Bart had dredged up. His eyes were still seeing whatever images that memory evoked.

B. A. hovered near the work bench, watching but pretending not to whenever the pilot groaned. Each period of anguished mutterings produced a muscle-tensing reaction in the burly Sergeant.

Hannibal decided to allow Face a few more minutes with Murdock. Maybe the Lieutenant could begin to guide the pilot back to reality and away from whatever hell he was remembering. "Come with me, doc, and let's see exactly what kind of merchandise Whitman wanted so badly. You too, Mr. Bartholomew. B. A., keep an eye on Jermaine, would you?"

B. A. grunted his acknowledgment of the order and moved over to stand beside the kid. Watching Jermaine was a welcome distraction.

Once out in the late afternoon sun, Hannibal opened the side door of the van. Dragging one of the boxes toward him, he slit open the top with a box cutter and took out one of the plastic-wrapped pinatas.

"Whitman was going to slice into the outer layer of the pinata when B. A. blew up the delivery truck. Let's see what was so valuable he had to resort to kidnapping." As Hannibal made one long cut along the pinata's body, an off-white powder sifted out onto the ground. He held out one cupped hand and let a mound of the drug collect.

The doctor nodded, a scowl on his face. "Heroin, I believe. Probably what your son got hold of, Bart. Well, Colonel Smith? What now?"

"Face, B. A. and I'll be taking these boxes in to Cathedral City to Whitman's office. Once we have them stored in an incriminating location on the premises, I'll call you and you can let the police know where it is. By that time, Whitman should be meeting me at the office to buy back his cargo. If I'm right, he won't come alone. The cops should be able to get almost all of Whitman's men along with him."

Hannibal emptied the remaining powder from the broken pinata into the bag in which it was wrapped and placed the bag and pinata on top of the box it came from. He accompanied Bart and the doctor back into the hangar.

"Face. B. A. We've got some unfinished business with Whitman and his goons." The Lieutenant was reluctant to leave Murdock's side but knew the Colonel was counting on him.

Face gripped his friend's shoulder, establishing a moment of eye contact before Murdock lost his focus again. "I'll be back soon. You keep fighting, buddy."

The Captain's raspy mutterings followed them as Face stood and the three men moved to the door.

Face glanced back and Hannibal reassured him. "Bartholomew and Doctor Hernandez will be here to take care of him. He's in good hands."


	18. Chapter 18 Murdock's Memories

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 18 Murdock's Memories

Hushed voices like the sound of ocean waves teased the dark perimeter of Murdock's consciousness. Memories, both old and more recent, competed for attention in his brain. There were explosions somewhere. Whether they were residuals from a flashback or present reality he could not tell in his disorientation.

He remembered barely skimming the tops of jungle trees with the chopper, frantic in his effort to find base camp. Nothing looked familiar. On the road below, he spied RVs that transformed into Army cargo trucks and back again before his eyes. The searing pain in his thigh increased as he used the left foot pedal. Several times black spots threatened to invade his eyesight and blind him.

Jase was staring wild-eyed through the shattered cockpit window. Alternately clenching his teeth and muttering prayers and curses, the co-pilot clutched at his shoulder. Blood drenched a plate-sized portion of his flight suit and made a crimson path down the sleeve until it dripped from his fingertips.

Bart glanced toward the cockpit whenever the chopper rolled to one side or the other. Murdock saw the grim fear etched in the gunner's expression and heard but could not make out the words the man was yelling. Twice, Bart aimed and shot into clearings below as enemy gunfire played a game of hit-or-miss with them.

Murdock realized he was saying a lot of things that made no sense, a combination of English and Vietnamese words. His crew men shouted at him as his delirium caused him to dip too low and the skids ripped the uppermost leaves from trees in the jungle canopy.

Staring down at a large dirt clearing and several makeshift buildings, he wondered how the VC had overrun the base camp. From the height they were flying, he thought he could see the enemy skittering around the camp like cockroaches.

Hannibal's voice intruded into his memories. He sounded anxious even though Murdock recognized the words he was saying were stern orders to stay awake.

He could not open his left eye and the side of his face hurt. Had Connors blinded him with his M-16 during the firefight? When he was able to locate a mirror would he look like the corpses with half of their faces blown away he had transported during dust-offs?

More memories. He remembered telling Hannibal he didn't want to die and the Colonel ordering him to stay alive. As if any man could will himself to stay alive if it was his time to die.

Looking down at base camp again, his mind was flooded with a kaleidoscopic swirl of bright colored lights as he attempted to land. He felt his body begin to lose the battle with consciousness and slump forward in the seat. Screams from Jase and Bart alerted him to the olive drab bladed mass looming before the windowless cockpit. And then there was pain. Blinding pain in his head and dully throbbing pain throughout his abdomen.

He could feel something sharp repeatedly poking the skin on his cheekbone like someone was using a thread and needle on him. If his arms weren't so heavy and uncooperative, he would brush the irritation away.

Face appeared beside him and he tried to focus on his best buddy. He wondered how Face could be in the chopper cockpit with him. The Lieutenant kept talking about someone called Whitman but Murdock couldn't remember a Whitman back at base camp. He was certain the man was not a member of his crew. Face faded in and out of his vision.

Voices, one of them Bart's, were addressing him, lifting his eyelids, asking him his name and the month and year. He mumbled something, anything, to get them to leave him alone. Poking his fingertips, causing him to flinch. He wanted to sleep but the voices pestered him as soon as he drifted into blackness, rousing him again to semi-consciousness.

Nearby gunshots sheared through metal and ricocheted on concrete. Had Connors and his men found a way to follow him? Angry shouts, a long thin wail, a loud scraping sound like metal on gravel. He sensed someone beside him and opened his good eye. Bart was pushing a skinny kid to the floor and crouching in front of him, a large rectangle of sheet metal shielding all of them.

Another man, a stranger to Murdock, glanced back at him from behind the barrier and grimaced in fear. The stranger held a pistol but looked like he was not comfortable using it.

"Our position's being overrun, Captain." Bart took aim with a hand gun at something beyond the metal barricade but did not fire. "I need you to cover the rear." The ex-gunner pressed a third revolver into the pilot's hand.

Murdock frowned down at the gun and tried to speak but his words would not formulate. He heard distant pounding from behind and in front of him. What were American civilians doing in a hot LZ?

"Report, Corporal." The Captain knew he had to get a handle on what was going on here. His thoughts were flitting from things in the past to what he perceived as reality and back again so quickly he couldn't be sure of the situation.

If they were all facing a deadly enemy, he had to keep his mind intact and focused. Bart paused, stole a glimpse at him and started talking. As he did, Murdock concentrated on his surroundings, forcing himself to stay clearheaded and awake.

"Whitman must have had some of his men still in the hills watching the airfield."

_Whitman. Yeah, that was the bad guy who kidnapped Bart's kid. _

"Fifteen minutes after your friends left for Cathedral City to meet with Whitman, six of his men drove up and parked at the end of the road. We watched them for a few minutes. They must have been calling in and getting instructions."

_No help from the guys then 'less we can contact 'em on a phone and let 'em know. _

"They started their attack a few minutes ago. We were able to barricade both of the doors but I don't know how long we can hold out."

"Ammo?"

"Thirty rounds each."

Murdock nodded and the movement set off a wave of nausea and dizziness. "Help me turn over onto my belly so I can cover that back door. Do you got a phone in here, Bart?"

The stranger put his gun on the cot and assisted the pilot to move from his back to a prone position. Murdock noticed the IV in his arm and the care the man took in making sure the tubing wasn't tangled. He nodded at the IV and glanced at the stranger. "Your handiwork?"

"Captain Murdock, this is my good friend Dr. Manny Hernandez." The doctor gave the pilot a shaky smile. "As far as a phone, I can't help you. The office has the only line out of here."

Murdock rested his head on one hand for a few seconds. "Then we'll have to keep holding them off 'til the guys get back."

_We could all be dead by then. But I can't let Bart or the others think about that. Best to hope for the best and ignore the worst, my grandma always said._


	19. Chapter 19 Watchin' and Waitin'

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 19 Watchin' and Waitin'

"If no one is at Whitman's office, we'll stash some of the boxes under the secretary's desk and the rest in the rear of the building. I want an opened pinata planted in Whitman's file cabinet." Hannibal chuckled and chewed on the lit cigar. "Maybe under the letter 'P.' The box I opened earlier should be on the top of those stored outside so the police can see it easily. That should give them reason to ask for a search warrant."

"I take it I'll need my lock-picking tools ready?" Face rolled his eyes and smirked.

"What if Whitman's already there and he got his goons with 'im?" B. A. glanced at the Colonel and then returned his attention to the road.

"Then we go to Plan B. We store the boxes in a neutral location, make Whitman come to us and let the cops find him and the merchandise together. Easy."

"Hannibal, nothin's easy when you on the jazz, man," B. A. growled.

"Speaking of Whitman, he seems to be on the move again. He isn't in Cathedral City and he doesn't appear to be heading there." The Colonel watched the blips on the screen for a few minutes. "He seems to be going out to Bartholomew's air field. He must figure the cargo is there. We'll have to move fast and make that call to redirect him. The last thing we need is for him to use his muscle out there. Murdock won't be able to do anything about it in his condition. Bartholomew could but if Jermaine gets in the way I doubt he will."

Whitman's office building was dark when they arrived minutes later. Face waited until there were no witnesses on the street and then got to work on the front door lock. He smiled at the ease with which the door opened to him.

"Great, kid. Now, B. A., if you could disable the alarm to that rear emergency door we can be more discreet about planting the goods." B. A. found and snipped the wires for the alarm and unlocked the back door.

Finding a place to store all of the boxes was last thing Hannibal wanted was for someone to get curious about the cargo they placed outside the rear door. A stack of pallets with a tarp over them caught the Colonel's attention. The three men removed the tarp and partially covered the boxes they unloaded from the van.

With all of the merchandise in place according to plan, the Colonel settled into Whitman's chair and put his feet up on the desk. He picked up the phone to call the imports merchant on his car phone, a number which Face located in a file on the secretary's desk.

"Whitman? Good. Now listen up. You won't find the cargo you're looking for at Bartholomew's air field. We have it in a safe location and are ready to make a deal. We'll meet you at your office. Bring two hundred thousand dollars and we'll phone you the location of your goods as soon as we're on our way out of town." Hannibal smiled as he hung up the receiver. He shot a pleased look at Face.

"He's not too happy but he says he's on his way. We need to call Bartholomew and have him give the cops the tip about the cargo." Face locked up all of the doors they had used and followed the Colonel to the van.

"Whitman turned 'round 'n' he's headin' this way." B. A. was checking the tracer screen. Hannibal grinned as he dialed Bartholomew's business number.

After several rings, the Colonel frowned. "I think we may have to come up with a Plan C, guys. No one's answering."

"Could they just not be close enough to the phone to get it?" Even as Face said it, he remembered that their client had agreed to be listening for their call. He knew both the doctor and the ex-gunner were serious about shutting down Whitman's illegal operations. The Colonel stared at the Lieutenant and shook his head.

"Don' like the sounds of that, Hannibal. They in trouble out there, man, 'n' we can't get there fast." In frustration, B. A. slapped the top of the steering wheel with one bejewelled hand. "What're we gonna do?"

"Follow through on this end, and then get out there as quickly as we can. The call to the cops would have sounded better coming from a local like Bartholomew. More believable. We'll have to phone in the tip and stay until we're sure the cops have found the stuff and Whitman and his men are taken in for questioning. I'm not sure what's happening back at the air field but it can't be good." Hannibal gave each of the men a worried glance before dialing the police dispatcher with his information.

"And now we wait." The Colonel hung up the phone and, closing his eyes, rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. He leaned back in his seat. Hearing Face's exasperated sigh, he added, "I don't like it any better than you, Lieutenant. Hopefully Cathedral City's finest don't sit on their hands with this one."

"Hannibal's right, Faceman. We got no choice. Whitman goes free and a whole lotta kids like Jermaine gonna get messed up. We gotta make sure the job's finished." B. A.'s voice cracked then. "Look, I'm worried 'bout the fool, too." He glared at both Hannibal and Face. "Jes' don't let me ever hear you tell 'im that."

_Some things never change_, the Colonel thought.

Hannibal ordered B. A. to park a block away on a side street with a clear view of the front and rear of the office. In case they had to engage the imports merchant and his strongmen in a shootout to keep them pinned down, B. A. brought the weapons from the lockbox in the back to the front.

Though the silence in the van was heavy with tension, no one wanted to speak. Each man impatiently watched for either the police or Whitman and his men to show up and hoped this end of the plan could be concluded quickly.


	20. Chapter 20 Stay With Your Unit

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 20 Stay With Your Unit

The banging noises from outside the hangar grew louder and more insistent. Murdock's head was throbbing with a brain-splitting ache. He didn't know how much longer he could keep himself propped up on his elbows, his revolver aimed at the back door.

_As long as it takes. Gotta stay focused. _

"When they break through, try to shoot over their heads. If that doesn't stop 'em and drop 'em, shoot to wound." Murdock gave the orders in a hoarse growl. He trusted Bart would follow through with the command but wasn't so sure about the doctor.

"Got it, Captain," Bart muttered from his position.

"Doc?" Murdock insisted upon an answer.

He heard the deep breath beside him and the doctor's shaky voice affirming he heard and understood.

The shouts from the attackers grew more furious. The metal walls rattled with every assault on the doors.

_Won't be long now. Gotta stay alert and steady._

The sound of wheels crunching gravel and a car door opening stopped all of the pounding noises from outside. The trapped men heard an abrasive male voice giving commands.

"Boss says he needs us at the office. Troy, Sonny, you stay here and watch to make sure they don't escape. Mr. Whitman wants to clean up _these_ loose ends personally."

Four car doors opened and slammed shut. Not until the sound of the tires retreated into the distance did Murdock realize he was holding his breath. He had been trying to ignore the severe ache in his head but could tune it out no longer. He gasped with its intensity and rested his head on the hand holding the revolver.

_Well, that bought us some time. Hope the guys can handle things on their end. _

The words he kept in his mind as a personal mantra while on missions echoed back at him. "You gotta stay with your unit, man, gotta stay with your unit." These two men and this kid were his unit for now and their protection was his part of the mission. He would fulfill his end if he had to sacrifice himself to do it.

He didn't know how long he remained in that position with his head down. Someone, Doctor Hernandez, Murdock thought, placed a hand on his shoulder and checked the IV tubing. "How are you doing, Captain?"

_No, it isn't the doctor. It's Bart. _

"Could be a helluva lot better, Bart. Guess we're waiting them out for a while. Gotta tell you, you're a good man to have around in a bad situation." Murdock smiled weakly.

"Am I?" Bart's voice had a tinge of bitterness in it that the pilot didn't understand. The ex-gunner took his hand away and moved back into his position facing the front door.

Before Murdock could give the question any more consideration a whirlwind of rustling movement caught his attention. His left eye still swollen shut, he had to turn his head completely to the side to see what was causing the disturbance beside him. A wave of black spots peppered his vision and bile rose up in his throat.

_Not now. Focus._

The skinny kid Bart forced to the floor scrambled on hands and knees past him, making his way to the nearby workbench. Murdock reached out with his left hand and gripped him by one ankle. He wasn't prepared for the flurry of bruising kicks his arm received.

"Get back here. You gotta death wish or somethin', kid?" he hissed, holding onto the foot with all the strength he could muster.

Bart turned just as the youth landed a jolting blow with his other foot and freed himself. Murdock dropped his revolver onto the cot and clutched his shoulder. The fresh pain radiated upward and joined the ache in his head. His vision blurred as he wrestled with staying alert. Memories of crashing in VC territory struggled with reality to dominate his thoughts.

"Jermaine!" The ex-gunner shouted the kid's name. "Get back here!"

As Murdock gripped the revolver again, the kid crawled to a leg of the workbench and reached up underneath. When his hand reappeared, he clutched a clear plastic bag of brownish white powder to his chest.

Murdock grimaced as the pain in his head continued its throbbing tempo, so much like the sound of the chopper's rotors just before it crashed. He no longer saw the interior of a hangar but a jungle clearing.

_I can't let him get in the first shot. Gotta protect the guys in my unit. _

The pilot took aim and splintered the wood on the top of the workbench. The bullet continued on its path through the corrugated metal of the wall.

Return gunfire exploded from outside through the walls of the hangar. The shots were about five feet off the ground but were low enough to make the doctor throw himself facedown onto the floor.

Bart scrambled toward Murdock, reaching for his arm, yelling at his son to duck, screaming at the pilot to drop the gun. Murdock leveled the revolver again and squinted with his good eye at his cowering target.


	21. Chapter 21 Collusion

Duty Is Color Blind

AN: There is a Cathedral City, California, but the police there do not bear resemblance to the officers in this story. This is fiction, not reality.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 21 Collusion

A dark blue Lincoln Continental pulled up to the Tesoro de Mexicana Imports office. Four men got out.

"I was hoping the cops would show up before Whitman got here. Less chance of the cargo being found and hidden away." The Colonel frowned and glanced at his watch. "We called it in fifteen minutes ago."

"Maybe they're getting a search warrant?" Face offered.

From their observation post a block away, Hannibal watched as two of the men stationed themselves at the door of the office building. Each held a fully automatic Intratec TEC-9. The other two men stood beside the rear passenger's side door. Although Hannibal could not see their weapons under their jackets, the position of the strongmen's hands indicated they had guns concealed in shoulder holsters.

The driver exited and walked around to the rear passenger side door to open it. Whitman left the vehicle with a briefcase, and the three men formed a living shield as they escorted him into the office.

The Colonel narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Whitman's running scared to have that many men and that much firepower on hand for a business transaction. He must not know how many of us there are. Good."

"You aren't planning on going in there, are you, Hannibal?" Face leaned forward to get a better view of the office building and guards in front. The Colonel glanced at the lit cigar in his hand and grinned.

"He is, Faceman." B. A. shook his head, his frown expressing his disapproval.

"The last thing we need is for Whitman to find either the boxes we planted under the secretary's desk or the pinata in the file drawer. I'm going to _distract_ him so the local constabulary finds the merchandise outside before Whitman or his boys find the stuff inside." There was a roguish gleam in Hannibal's eyes.

"What happens when the cops show up and you're still in there?" Face ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He thought back to a time when the Colonel, dressed as the Aquamaniac, dared Colonel Lynch to come get him. Sometimes his CO was too much of a risk taker for his own good.

Hannibal chuckled. "You worry too much, Lieutenant. You'll phone the office with a wrong number call to warn me when they arrive. I'll find a way to get out before they get in to see Whitman."

"If the plan comes together, you mean." Face gave B. A. an exasperated glance.

"Just be ready to move when you see me coming out of there." With that, Hannibal opened his door and walked across the street. He wanted to approach the building without letting the guards see he had come from the direction of the parked van.

"Don' like this one bit. Colonel's on the jazz for sure." B. A. stared sullenly as Hannibal ambled up and the guards shoved him through the door.

Several anxious minutes later, Face breathed a sigh of relief when a Cathedral City squad car pulled up beside the Lincoln Continental. He reached for the phone to call Whitman's office but stopped in mid-dial.

Two officers left the vehicle and walked up to the guards at the door. One of the guards offered a pack of cigarettes to an officer. He laughed, took one and handed the pack to his fellow officer.

"What _is_ this, Faceman? Those guns ain't legal to carry on the street but the cops act like they don' even _see _'em. It's like they all pals." B. A. scowled in confusion.

A second vehicle pulled up and its four occupants joined the men at the door.

The officers and four new men strolled to the back of Whitman's car and popped open the trunk. They did the same to the trunk of the newly arrived car. Smoking cigarettes and joking with each other, they disappeared around the side of the building only to reappear in the back. Each man took a box and carried it to the vehicles.

"Now I _know_ somethin's not right. They're loadin' the shipment in the trunk of Whitman's car 'n' that other car."

"Which means we won't get help from the local constabulary," Face mused.

"Which means Hannibal's in trouble. They gonna know to look under the desk." B. A. groaned and slapped his hand on the dashboard.

"Hannibal never told the dispatcher about the pinata in the file drawer. We'll save that bit of information. It may be useful. The closest Drug Enforcement District office is in Riverside a little over an hour away. I can call and leave an anonymous message as soon as we know where they're taking the drugs." Face climbed into the front seat the Colonel usually occupied to get a better view. "There's Hannibal."

"He's got an escort."

The Colonel, hands cuffed in front of him, passed through the door. He was followed closely by an armed man. The officers and Whitman's remaining men entered the building and brought out the rest of the boxes.

As the last of the boxes was packed Whitman himself emerged and gestured for Hannibal to sit in the rear seat of the Lincoln with him. The three cars turned onto the street leading out of Cathedral City and toward Bart's Tours and Rentals.

"Follow them, B. A." Face gripped the phone in his hand, waiting to make the call to Riverside.


	22. Chapter 22 Not So Friendly Fire

Duty Is Color Blind

AN: Shorter chapter. Sorry about that. Had a bout of writer's block the past few days and didn't know how I wanted this story to conclude. I relied on an English to Vietnamese online translation site for the words Murdock says. I'm hoping they are correct.

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 22 Not So Friendly Fire

For a couple of horror-filled moments, everything seemed to progress in slow motion.

Jermaine clutched the plastic bag containing his drug stash to his chest. He shivered violently from withdrawal and fear. The injured crazy man with the gun had fired off a shot dangerously close to his head. The blast had torn into the wood surface of the work table above him, sending a shower of splinters into the air. He was taking aim again and Jermaine knew this shot would be on target.

His father was yelling at him and at the man on the cot. He saw Bart scramble past Doctor Hernandez in an attempt to stop the wounded man from firing. The doctor, his arms covering his head, lay prone on the cement floor.

Just as his father reached for the gun, the shooter snarled, "Mất bao! Tôi đã nhận anh ta! (Take cover! I got him!)"

"Is he nuts? What's he saying?" Jermaine screamed. His eyes widened as Bart grasped the pilot's wrist and wrenched it and the weapon sideways.

"He's a friendly! Not VC! Do you understand me, Captain? Not VC!"

Both men were breathing hard. The man his father had identified as Captain strained to yank his wrist free. Through gritted teeth he snapped, "Hãy để tôi đi! (Let me go!)"

The IV tubing caught on the corner of the cot and ripped from the Captain's arm. He squeezed the trigger of the gun as Bart forced his arm upward. The shot penetrated the metal ceiling, setting off another volley of gunfire, this time a foot lower, from Whitman's two men outside.

Something struck Jermaine in the shoulder, its violent impact propelling him backwards onto the floor. For a second he remained dazed, gazing up at the underside of the work table. The plastic bag flew from his hands and landed out of reach.

Seconds later scorching pain hit him as if a white hot metal spike had been shoved into his shoulder. He could hear his father's muffled cries but dizziness made him close his eyes.

"Mất bao! Mất bao!" The Captain shouted his warning.

Bart had wrested the revolver from Murdock and was making his way to his son, keeping low to the ground. Random shots from outside continued to pierce the corrugated walls of the hangar. When the Captain fell suddenly silent, the ex-gunner glanced back over his shoulder.

Murdock twisted onto his left side, both hands clutching his right leg where a stray bullet had struck. Applying pressure, he tried to stem the blood flowing from the wound inches above his knee. Breath hissing in and out of his mouth, his good eye was squeezed shut against the pain.

"Manny, Captain Murdock's been hit, needs a medic." Bart scurried the rest of the distance to Jermaine. In a low voice, he reassured his son. "You took a shot. I'm going to try to drag you back to the barricade. It's going to hurt but you have to try not to yell. We don't need to let them know we have wounded in here. Understand?"

"Dad, it hurts so bad." Jermaine's voice came out in a groan.

"I know. I know. Try to hush." Bart hooked both arms under his son's shoulders and pushed himself back along the floor with his legs, pulling Jermaine with him. With every tug backward, the young man sucked in a sharp breath.

Doctor Hernandez was reinserting the IV into Murdock's arm by the time Bart got his son safely behind the sheet metal barricade.

"How is he, Manny?" The ex-gunner swiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

"You and this man's friends should have let me call an ambulance for him when I could." The doctor shook his head in exasperation. "The bullet didn't hit the femoral artery or any bones as far as I could tell. I didn't want to try to remove it and put him into shock. I irrigated with saline solution and packed it as well as I could under the circumstances. I have only so many gauze pads in the medical bag I brought out with me. Might have to use clean shop towels for bandages." The doctor frowned in frustration. "I'm most worried about that head injury. What was he saying anyway?"

"Hell if I know. I never attempted to learn anything beyond a few phrases in Vietnamese. He knew almost their entire vocabulary. Spoke it fluently from what I heard. He got us out of a few scrapes with the locals. Amazed the rest of us." Bart shook his head with the memory.

"So he was having a flashback? I've never encountered anything like that in my years of practice." Doctor Hernandez began his examination of Jermaine's shoulder wound as he spoke. "Better hope the Captain's buddies can do something about our friends out there. These two need more attention than I can give."


	23. Chapter 23 Plan C

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 23 Plan C

B. A. maneuvered the van along the roads leading out of Cathedral City keeping well out of sight of the three cars ahead.

As soon as the vehicles turned off on Dillon Road, Face knew they were headed to Bart's Tours and Rentals.

"Go on past the turnoff, B. A. I'm calling Riverside." Face and B. A. exchanged worried glances. "We have to get Hannibal and Murdock out before any Drug Enforcement agents get to the airfield. That is, _if_ they send someone to investigate. And if they don't, we'll have to send Whitman and his men packing before they kill anybody."

The van passed through a road construction site, the equipment idle and unattended in the early evening hour.

"Whitman got twelve or more guys there. How we gonna even get _near_ the place?"

Face smiled, glancing at the county road map. He gestured toward the construction site. "How are you at hot-wiring a bulldozer, B. A.?"

The bejeweled driver grinned and pulled over to the side of the road.

While Face made his anonymous call and B. A. "requisitioned" the dozer and fitted it with an M-60 on the driver's side window, Hannibal was staring out the window of Whitman's car.

_Okay, so Plan A and B are down the toilet. Don't know what I'm going to find when we get to Bart's airfield. I can delay Whitman only so long before all of us are history. It's up to Face and B. A. now. _

Hannibal reached up with his cuffed hands to his jacket pocket. Whitman gripped his wrist.

"Just reaching for a cigar. You don't mind if I smoke, do you?" The Colonel grinned and Whitman released his hold.

"Why not?" He laughed and shrugged. "Think of it as a last request granted."

Hannibal removed the cigar, bit the end and spat it out onto the car floor. "Got a light?"

Whitman smiled and took out a silver initialed lighter from the pocket of his suit coat. "Why not? Every man should be allowed to enjoy one last thing before he dies." His tone grew somber and threatening with the last three words.

"So how much of the Cathedral City police force do you have on your payroll, Whitman?" The Colonel blew smoke in the import merchant's direction.

Whitman smirked. "Let's just say that when suspicious activity regarding drugs is called in, the right officers for the job are sent out to take care of it."

The three cars slowed to a stop in front of the airfield office. The drivers parked side by side and all of the occupants got out.

Hannibal glanced at the police officers and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Officers Hopkins and Keene are here to arrest Langston Bartholomew for smuggling heroin into the country. It's too bad all of you were caught in the crossfire when he resisted arrest." Whitman laughed again. "You should never have tried to escape from the back door."

The import merchant strolled over to Troy and Sonny, the two men who were left to watch the hangar. After an intense conversation, Whitman returned to stand in front of Hannibal.

"Seems Bartholomew and whoever else he has in there with him have weapons. How many are in there, friend?" the import merchant growled.

"First of all, I'm not your friend. Second, I really think if you want that information you should go in and see for yourself." The Colonel drew from the cigar and released the smoke directly into Whitman's face before giving him a grin.

Whitman raised his hand to hit Hannibal, then dropped it. He glared into his eyes. "No, I'm not going to hit you. Bruises can't be explained when the Drug Enforcement agents come snooping around. It doesn't matter anyway. The fact they have guns should make the story of how you died even more believable."

"Let me guess. You'll plant enough heroin in the hangar to make the smuggling story believable, too. You lay low for a while until the heat is off, then it's business as usual. "

Whitman smiled. "You catch on quickly." Just as suddenly as the smile appeared, it was gone and replaced with a scowl. He gestured to his men to come closer. "I want four of you to pepper the length of that hangar with shot about four feet off the ground. That should make them duck. Tony, Sonny, you two come in the back as soon as the gunfire stops. Vic, Abe, you guys go in the front. They'll still be recovering from the first round. I want them alive until I can personally finish the job. Now, go!"

Whitman's men scattered to get into position. Hannibal continued to smoke his cigar, a grin on his face. Inside his guts were churning. The report that Tony and Sonny gave the import merchant about gunfire from inside the hangar seemed to indicate more than one person was armed.

_Bart is likely armed. But who else? Not the kid. That leaves the doctor and Murdock. _

The doctor didn't seem the type to brandish a weapon. That left the injured pilot as the other gunman. The thought that Murdock may have recovered enough to protect himself and the others should have reassured Hannibal but didn't.

_Is he sufficiently recovered to continue to keep Whitman and his men out of there?_

Inside the hangar Doctor Hernandez was finishing his treatment of Jermaine's shoulder wound. Bart was the first to hear the three cars when they parked in front of the airfield office.

"Manny, we've got company. Sounds like quite a few."

A low moan escaped from Murdock's lips. Then, "Bart?"

The ex-gunner crouched beside the cot, one hand on the Captain's shoulder, the other gripping his gun. "I'm right here, Captain."

"Did I get them all?" Murdock struggled to lift himself on his elbows. "Where's my gun?"

"I secured it. You took a shot in your leg. You need to rest and let the doctor and me defend this position." Bart grimaced at the wild look the injured man gave him from his uninjured eye.

"Only two of you." The Captain gritted his teeth against the pain in his head and leg. He grasped the ex-gunner's wrist with surprising strength. "I'm ordering you to give me a weapon, Corporal."

"Sorry, Captain. You can't pull rank here. We're both civilians now and this is my airfield. You got that?" Bart pulled his wrist away and moved away from the cot to face the front door to the hangar.

Seconds later, the four men outside sprayed the corrugated metal wall with bullets.


	24. Chapter 24 Stand Off

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 24 Stand Off

Doctor Hernandez forced Jermaine to the floor. One of his arms and half of his upper body pinned the youth down on his stomach. As bullets pierced the metal hangar walls from outside, Bart scrambled to the cot where Murdock lay and pulled it over on its side.

The pilot yelped in surprise and pain as he tumbled onto the ex-gunner. "Sorry about that but you're safer right now on the floor with the rest of us, Captain." Bart put his arm across the pilot's shoulders, holding him down.

"Sure you won't reconsider givin' me back that gun?" The Captain hissed from his prone position. "'Cause soon as they stop takin' pot shots, they'll be comin' through both doors."

"That depends on where you think you are right now and if I'm convinced your head's on straight." Bart shifted position to allow the pilot some freedom to move.

"I have a helluva headache 'n' I'm bein' shot at. How's that for starters?" Murdock grimaced and gingerly touched the bruised lump on his forehead. "I'm tellin' you, what they're doin' is a distraction so we won't be ready when the real attack starts."

The black man scrutinized the Captain's agonized face for a few seconds. Fewer shots were being fired and a decision had to be made. "Okay. Here's the gun. Cover the back door and I'll cover the front." Bart crawled past Murdock to the opposite end of the sheet metal barricade.

"I got an idea that might put them off guard. If it works they'll stop for a second after they come through those doors. Then's when we fire over their heads 'n' try to drive 'em back."

The ex-gunner glanced back over his shoulder and raised a questioning eyebrow as the gunfire from outside abruptly stopped. The locks on both doors were destroyed by bullets and the doors crashed open. Whitman's men stepped inside, their weapons ready.

Simultaneously, Murdock yelled as loudly as he could."Màu vàng lợn nái bụng! Quay trở lại! Quay trở lại! (Yellow sow bellies! Back off! Back off!)" He followed the shouted warning with an earsplitting "Yahooooo! Yi-yi-yi-yi-yi!" and began firing.

From the moment he cried out the insult and command in Vietnamese and let loose with his patent whoop he observed he had been right about what would happen. One of the two men he was facing widened his eyes in confusion. He took a stumbling step backward and nearly knocked his companion down. Murdock heard Bart firing off several rounds from behind him. He was relieved to see the two men in his view retreat to the outside.

_This'll buy us only a couple of minutes before they figure it out and try again. Wish I knew where the guys were. _

Channeling all the bravado he could muster into his words, Murdock hollered, "That was just a warning. Next time we're drawin' blood."

As the four men drilled bullets into the side of the hangar, Hannibal felt the tension in his stomach squeeze bile up toward his throat. If the three men and the kid were not prepared for the lethal volley of shots, they might be wounded or dead even now. He tried to stifle the thought of Murdock lying dead inside the hangar.

_Men around me in combat situations have died before. I've buried plenty of good friends. But this is Murdock . . . like one of my own family. _

For a few seconds, Hannibal worked the cigar in his mouth as worry fought to gain the upper hand inside him. With great effort he buried his rising concern and directed his focus back on bringing Whitman to justice.

_Can't afford to let him see any weakness. There's got to be a way out of this._

The barrage of gunfire stopped. The Colonel squinted to see Vic and Abe, the two goons they waylaid at the regional airport, fire at the lock on the hangar door. As soon as they entered the building, they were greeted by a wild cry of foreign words and a familiar whoop that brought relief to Hannibal's mind.

The shots fired over the heads of Whitman's two men in the front of the hangar caused all of the men outside to drop to the ground. In the commotion Hannibal got to his feet in a semi-crouching position. With one quick movement, he threw his cuffed hands over his captor's head and slid the chain between the cuffs up around his throat.

Clenching his cigar between gritted teeth, the Colonel growled, "Call off your goons, Whitman. Do it now or I'll decapitate you." To emphasize his words, Hannibal jerked his hands upward.


	25. Chapter 25 Whitman's Downfall

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 25 Whitman's Downfall

Hannibal heard Murdock yell his threat at the four men who had invaded the hangar. He wrenched the chain of the handcuffs against the import merchant's throat. Whitman's eyes bulged and his face reddened. A trickle of blood escaped from under the tightening chain and stained his shirt collar. He flailed at his neck in vain and rasped, "Alright! Alright! Don't kill me!"

"Tell them to drop their weapons! Say it!"

"Tony! Sonny! Vic! Abe! You others! Put your weapons on the ground! Do it now!" Whitman grimaced as Hannibal kept the pressure on his throat. Tony and Sonny appeared from the rear of the building and followed the others in obeying their boss' orders.

"Tell them to go to that plane over there and get in it. Tell them if I see one of them try to get to the guns, I'll kill you. I won't have any regrets doing it either." The Colonel shifted the cigar to the corner of his mouth and grinned. Hearing Murdock's voice was all he had needed to gain control over his emotions and the situation.

Whitman repeated his instructions and his men and the two corrupt officers slowly and reluctantly trudged to the passenger door of the small airplane and got in.

Hannibal heard a low rumble and metallic squeak from somewhere beyond the hangar. Dragging Whitman to his feet, the Colonel forced the imports merchant to walk toward the building.

"Captain, I'm coming in and I have a little gift for you." Hannibal called out.

"Hannibal? That you?" Relief was evident in the pilot's tone. "Come ahead."

As soon as Murdock heard Hannibal's greeting and acknowledged it, he allowed his body and mind to relax into the darkness that had threatened since he was overturned from the cot.

A wave of anger rushed through the Colonel when he saw Murdock's condition. There was no mistaking the pilot had been wounded during the gunfire. One leg of the khaki pants had been cut off just above the blood-soaked bandage. The bandage seemed to grow redder with each passing minute.

"Mr. Bartholomew, if you would go into this man's pants pocket and get the keys to the cuffs, I would appreciate it." The rumble of heavy machinery came to a halt outside the rear of the hangar and moments later B. A. entered.

"Hannibal, what you want me to do with that bulldozer out there?" The burly man cast a frowning glance at the doctor as he checked Murdock's vital signs and bandaged leg wound.

The Colonel grinned as Bart unlocked the cuffs. "Put the blade up on it and park it against the passenger's door of that airplane out there. I want the contents of that aircraft secured." Hannibal twisted Whitman's hands behind him and tightened the handcuffs around his wrists. Bart went to his son, sitting on the floor beside him and holding him closely.

As B. A. followed orders, Face parked the van in front of the hangar and hurried inside. "I called the Drug Enforcement District Office in Riverside and told them about Whitman bringing the shipment out here. They assured me they have agents in the area on their way. How is he?" The Lieutenant stared at his friend's prone figure and the blood soaking through the makeshift shop towel bandage. He moved past the Colonel and into a position beside Murdock.

"I got back here as fast as I could, buddy. You're going to be alright." Face rested a hand on the pilot's shoulder and sought reassurance from the doctor but found little.

Murdock stirred and mumbled, "Faceman? Not gonna be flyin' for awhile, amigo. Tell B. A. Make his day. 'lright?"

"I'll tell him." Face glanced toward Hannibal. The Colonel's normally composed expression was gone, replaced by a look very rarely seen: one of despair. The young Lieutenant's muscles tensed and he fiercely turned back to his friend, not willing to give up.

Hannibal dragged Whitman over to the end of the barricade. B. A. returned from his duty outside and followed the Colonel. He stood, clenching his fists. His lips silently formed the words of a prayer his mother had written down for him before he went to Viet Nam. The paper it was written on was torn and bloodstained but the words had been committed to memory over the years.

The doctor's grim look told them everything. _"Now _can I get that ambulance for my patients?" He glared at the Colonel.

The soft laugh that emerged from Murdock's mouth startled all of them. "Can't do that, doc. I gotta stay with my unit. Gotta stay . . . " His face pinched with pain and he gripped Face's wrist. "Don' let Hannibal send me to the hospital."

The Colonel took in a deep breath and held it before releasing it. "Is there any way we can get treatment for him without getting the hospital involved?" _Damn Murdock's stubborn nature anyway! _

Face gazed into the doctor's eyes. "Without any of us being able to stay with him, Murdock will likely flip out. If I know my buddy, he'll find a way to escape as soon as no one's looking. If he does that while he's having a flashback, it could be dangerous for him and anyone who tries to stop him."

Doctor Hernandez flinched, remembering the terror of the flashback that resulted in Bart's son being wounded.

"What about setting him up in my home? I'm a single father and my daughter is away from home at college. I have a spare bedroom for the Captain. Colonel Smith and his men can stay there and you can monitor his condition. You're on vacation anyway, Manny, and remember you owe me." Bart kept his eyes on the suffering contorted expression of the pilot. "I owe him one, too," he added softly.

"But what about the bullet? It has to come out." The doctor argued, mounting frustration lacing his voice.

"You know anything about field surgery, doc?" Hannibal's eyes took on a flinty appearance. "We do. In Nam we had to be medics sometimes when the actual medic was wounded or killed. It isn't the most perfect setting to remove a bullet, but a spare bedroom is a helluva lot better place than the edge of a rice paddy or a tropical jungle." The Colonel gave the doctor a humorless smile. "Besides, you'll be there to guide my hands if you don't want the responsibility of doing it yourself."

"And the head injury?"

"Has he shown improvement?"

"Well . . . he has been conscious for longer periods of time and his quick thinking kept us from being killed. If we can keep him very quiet . . ."

B. A. snorted at that and muttered, "In your dreams, doc. Crazy man love to talk."

Doctor Hernandez shot the muscular Sergeant an irritated look. ". . . he may continue to improve. I need your word that if I see signs of his condition deteriorating, he goes immediately to the hospital."

Hannibal hated being locked into promises that might be detrimental to the team but he would be _damned_ if he would let a man on his team die because of it. "Agreed, doc."

"Hannibal . . ." Murdock moaned. "No hospital."

"Don't worry about that, Captain. When you get better we won't have to cross that bridge, now will we?" The older man's voice was strained and weary. Face glanced up at the tone. What he saw in both Hannibal and B. A.'s expressions was not reassuring.


	26. Chapter 26 Signs and Surgery

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 26 Signs and Surgery

The van passed two unmarked black sedans and a dark blue cargo van going in the opposite direction on Thousand Palms Canyon Road. The sun was an hour from setting. Hannibal hoped by the time the Drug Enforcement agents arrived at the airfield they would easily locate the drugs in Whitman's cars and the corrupt officers and strongmen imprisoned in Bart's plane.

Just to be sure, he placed an anonymous call to the Riverside office, indicating exactly where the agents could find everything including the drug-laden pinata in the "P" file drawer in Whitman's Cathedral City office.

That was their next stop. As Bart made the turn that led to his home in Thousand Palms, B. A. and Hannibal took the road that led to Tesoro de Mexicana Imports. Face held a subdued Whitman handcuffed and at gunpoint in the back seat.

After assuring that no one was watching, Face once again picked the lock on the outer door of the office building and let himself and the others in. B. A. shoved Whitman through the open door so hard the merchant almost tripped.

"Now, B. A., that isn't a very nice way to treat someone who's going to be spending some years behind bars." Hannibal's eyes twinkled with pleasure at being able to incriminate the imports man for drug smuggling.

"Don't like people who fool with kids and get 'em all messed up with dope." B. A. grabbed the collar of Whitman's shirt and dragged him to the inner office door which Face was unlocking. Once inside, the Colonel directed B. A. to make Whitman sit on the floor near the file cabinet.

Hannibal unlocked one of the handcuffs and hooked it around a leg of the nearby desk. "Now, you'll be a little uncomfortable for a while until the DEA people get here but I'm sure they'll find you a nice comfortable mattress in a cell when they look in the file cabinet." With that, the Colonel pulled open the drawer containing the opened pinata and its plastic bag of heroin. "Makes it almost too easy for them."

"If Murdock were here, he'd have a sign all made up with bright colored crayon saying 'I am a scumbag drug smuggler. Arrest me' or something like that." Face's smile was wistful.

"Well, we don't have crayons but we can make a few signs and leave them." Hannibal agreed and turned to the desk.

"Already on it, Colonel." B. A. was sitting at the secretary's desk in the outer office. His gruff voice hinted of a need to do something to relieve his concern for his friend.

After a few minutes he grunted and showed Hannibal his handiwork. "This one we can tape to the outer door." The paper had a large bulls-eye with the words 'Drug smuggler inside' printed at the top.

The next page had a large black arrow on it and the words 'He's in here.' "We can put this one on his office door."

"Here's the last one, Hannibal. Thought you could tape it to the side of the file drawers." Hannibal and Face had to chuckle at B. A.'s creativity. He had drawn a figure that looked a little like a decapitated donkey pinata and printed the words 'The dope is in the "P" files. The other dope is on the floor.'

"Why, B. A.! I never would have guessed you were so inventive. Murdock would be proud." The Colonel clapped the bejeweled man on the shoulder and grinned.

"Yeah, well, just don't let the fool know I did this. Okay, Hannibal?" B. A. stared down at the floor, unable to make eye contact.

Face and Hannibal both placed their hands on B. A.'s shoulders at the same time. Hannibal spoke first. "He'll be okay, B. A. He knows we need him and he'll fight because of that alone. Now let's post these and get out of here."

After taping the last sign to the file cabinet and shutting the doors but not locking them, the three men got in the van and rode in silence to the home address Bart gave them. Worry over their teammate dominated the atmosphere.

They were not surprised to find that Bart had taken Jermaine on to the hospital emergency room after dropping Murdock and Doctor Hernandez at his residence on Monte Vista Way.

Face was the first to make his way to the spare bedroom which Bart had offered as a makeshift hospital room. Murdock lay unconscious on top of the bed, his jacket and cap draped over a chair in the corner, his shoes side by side at the foot of the bed. The doctor was setting up a small side table with forceps, needle and sutures, Penrose drain, retractor and hemostat.

When Face sat on the side of the bed, Doctor Hernandez looked at him and nodded toward the pilot. "I'm going to have to get that bullet out now. Is your Colonel ready to assist?"

"Right here, doc." Hannibal paused at the doorway, noting the anguished look on his Lieutenant's face. "Can we give Face a few moments with Murdock before we do this?"

The doctor glanced at the young man gripping the pilot's hand and frowned. "For only a few minutes. Your Captain should have had the bullet removed an hour or more ago. We can get the rest of the supplies I need while he visits. I live two doors away."

As soon as Hannibal and Doctor Hernandez left the room, Face let out the sigh he had been holding in. "I don't know if you can hear me. I just know you're hurting in a bad way. You're like a brother to me and brothers don't let go of each other that easily. I guess I'm saying I need you to get better. All of us do."

Murdock's unswollen eye opened to a small slit. He licked dry lips and tried to focus his gaze on Face. "The crash was my fault. Bart told me. They died 'cause of me." He swallowed. "I killed 'em."

"I don't understand, Murdock, but right now is not the time for this. You have to fight to live." Face felt panic rise within himself. Uncertainty over whether the incident his friend was repeating from before had actually happened. Fear that Murdock would seek some sort of perverse justice for the victims, whether imagined or real, by sacrificing his own life. "You can't pay for their lives by letting your own go."

The pilot gave Face a lopsided sad smile and rasped, "Eye for an eye" before lapsing into unconsciousness once more.


	27. Chapter 27 Eye For an Eye

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 27 Eye For an Eye

Hannibal emerged from the improvised operating room. His hand fumbled for a fresh cigar from his jacket pocket as he walked down the hallway. Settling into an armchair in the living room, he stared at the cigar as if wondering how it got into his hand. Absently, he slipped it back into his pocket and gazed down at the carpeted floor.

"Well?" Face had stopped his pacing as soon as he heard the door to the spare bedroom open and someone come down the hall. Upon seeing the Colonel's dazed expression, he froze in place. His mouth uncharacteristically gaped open as he waited for a response.

B. A. stood to his feet and strode toward the hall, then hesitated. He looked toward the closed door at the end and back at Hannibal. Indecision softened his angry features. "Is the crazy man goin' t' be alright, Colonel?"

Hannibal leaned forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees, his head bowed and his hands clasped together in front of him. "I don't know." The normally confident voice was subdued and uncertain.

"He . . . ain't gonna . . . die, is he, Hannibal?" B. A. spoke the strangled words and regretted them immediately after. The Colonel continued to stare at the floor with slumped shoulders.

Face's focus was centered on Hannibal's hands which still bore drying splotches of blood on the fingers.

"No, gentlemen. He's not going to die. Not physically, at least." Doctor Hernandez had come silently down the hall from the room. So quietly that all of them, even B. A. who was within two feet of him, jumped at his voice.

A stunned silence, then Face rushed the doctor and gripped him by the front of his shirt. The Lieutenant's chest heaved with his angry outburst. "What _exactly_ do you mean by that, doc? Stop playing word games."

B. A. grabbed Face under the arms and wrestled him back toward the wall. "Faceman, get a grip."

The doctor shrank backwards a few feet into the living room and drew a few shaky breaths to steady himself. 

The Sergeant cast a quick look at Hannibal. The Colonel had not responded to Face's reaction but seemed lost in his own thoughts. B. A. felt fear rising up inside. He willed himself to center his attention upon the struggling man in his arms. The Lieutenant was fighting his restraining arms with all the adrenaline-pumped strength he could muster.

"Faceman, chill! Doc can't tell us nothin' if you try to kill 'im."

"Best to tell them what you know, doctor." Hannibal's words were thick and soft, tinged with an emotion B. A. hadn't heard since the time when Murdock almost died from a bullet intended for the Colonel.

Doctor Hernandez nodded slowly and formed his words carefully before speaking. He looked at each man in turn as he shared the information Hannibal requested. "We'll have to watch the site of the gunshot wound for signs of infection, of course. He also lost quite a bit of blood but the bullet is out and the wound is draining."

"I'm same blood type as Murdock. You can give 'im some of mine." B. A. let Face go and stepped toward the doctor. "If that's all he needs . . . "

A flash of sympathy crossed the doctor's face and he shook his head. "The most immediate concern is whether pressure is building up inside the skull from bleeding or if something else is affecting him. With a mentally unstable person, what is normal for him may be mistaken for brain injury. Hallucinations, delusions, confused and slurred speech, remembering things that may or may not have happened, that sort of thing."

Hannibal spoke, leaning back into the chair and wearily closing his eyes. "He was conscious for most of the surgery."

B. A. winced at that. Unwanted memories surfaced of less serious wounds he received which were tended without anesthetic on the field in Viet Nam.

The Colonel swiped a hand across his face before continuing. "How he could stay awake through it, I'll never know. Had to hurt like hell. Doc gave him a local anesthetic but couldn't put him under completely because of the head injury. He could have gone into a coma and never come back out again."

He shook his head, remembering Murdock's agonized face as the wound was tended. Hannibal opened his eyes and looked at Face. "Right now, it's like he doesn't care if he lives or dies. Remember what he was saying back in that clearing? He said the same things again. Something about a crash, someone dying and it being his fault. He kept repeating the words 'eye for an eye.' That's something out of the Bible, isn't it?"

B. A. nodded. "Means if you hurt someone, you deserve the same kinda hurtin' back. Least that's what I 'member from growin' up."

Face frowned. "He said the same thing to me when I was alone with him, Hannibal. You don't think he's feeling so guilty over whatever this is, he's suicidal, do you?"

"Whatever this is started when Bartholomew and Murdock talked about that last mission they were on together in Nam. We need to know what our client knows. Maybe it'll help us get through to him and give him back the will to live." The Colonel seemed to gain strength with his last statement.

B. A. slammed his fist into his open palm. "Do you want me to get it outta him, Hannibal?"

"No, B. A. I can't really go to the hospital right now to talk to him and I'm _not _going to have you terrorize him. The kid's gunshot wound is bound to have been reported. There will likely be police or DEA people interviewing him while he waits for Jermaine to come out of surgery. Can it wait until Mr. Bartholomew comes home from the hospital, doc?"

The doctor thought for a few moments and came to a decision. "As a good friend of the family, I would stand a better chance of speaking to him than any of you while he's there at the hospital. There wouldn't be as many questions. As soon as he tells me something, I'll come back and tell you. We need that information as soon as possible to help your friend's mental state."

Face hesitated and then asked, "Can I go sit in the room with him, maybe talk to him? He's my best friend and the closest thing to a brother I have."

The doctor scrutinized the young Lieutenant. "Be careful what you say. Don't let him become agitated. Colonel Smith, if he does get restless you may have to give him a mild sedative. I hope it doesn't come to that but he needs someone to stand a suicide watch over him if his words mean what you believe they mean. Only one person at a time with him for now, okay?" With those final instructions, Doctor Hernandez left the house.

The three men looked at each other before both Hannibal and B. A. motioned for Face to take the first watch. The Lieutenant walked to the door and hesitated before knocking twice.

"I'll spell you in four hours, Lieutenant," Hannibal told him. "If you need us, B. A. and I will be camped out in the living room."

Face nodded and flashed the Colonel a brief melancholy smile. He squared his shoulders and prepared himself to take care of his friend no matter how difficult or painful it would be.


	28. Chapter 28 Wounded in Body and Mind

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 28 Wounded in Body and Mind

Face was thankful the room was dimly lit. Only the lamp on the right side of the bed was on. It highlighted the unmarred side of Murdock's face, the side which seemed so peaceful in sleep. The bruised lump on his forehead, stitched gash across his cheek and swollen blackened eye were not as pronounced when in shadow.

Doctor Hernandez and the Colonel had gotten Murdock undressed down to his T-shirt and boxers and under the covers after surgery. The bloodied khaki pants with their one cut-off leg were balled up on the chair where the jacket was draped. His socks were neatly tucked into his high top tennies.

Face positioned an armchair within inches of the right side of the head of the bed. If Murdock should rouse and wonder where he was, the Lieutenant wanted him to receive some comfort knowing his best friend, his brother, was near.

He thought back to his childhood growing up in the Catholic orphanage. He had never thought much of a God that would allow so many children to be abandoned by their parents and then tell them through the priests and nuns that He was their Father.

His own deceased biological father, A. J. Bancroft, left it to Murdock to tell Face too late who he really was. Their friendship had been almost destroyed over that secret. Why had God allowed that?

In Viet Nam there were seriously injured men who prayed before succumbing to their wounds. God hadn't answered them, had He?

Something about the whole God thing kept Face thinking about it. There _had _been times when he saw situations turn out right after someone prayed in desperation. In the orphanage chapel, people lit candles before praying for their loved ones. There was a pillar candle on the dresser against the wall.

Murdock shuddered violently and groaned. Face reached out to place one hand on the pilot's shoulder. "I'm here, Murdock. You're not alone."

The injured man swallowed once and relaxed into sleep again. The Lieutenant stared at his friend and then at the candle.

Standing, he went to the dresser and brought the candle back to the bedside table.

Drawing a lighter out of his jacket, Face lit the wick. It sputtered before giving off a warm steady glow. The faint smell of burning wax wafted toward him as he returned the lighter to his pocket. He leaned forward, resting his head in his arms on the bed, wondering what to do next.

When Hannibal came into the room five hours later, he noted the candle flame guttering in its liquid pool and the dozing Lieutenant.

Murdock's face was tightened in a grimace. His right arm was out from under the covers, his white-knuckled fist gripping the comforter close to where Face slept. His breathing was rapid and shallow.

He looked up at the older man, his right eye glazed with pain. "I . . . didn't want . . . to wake him . . . " His muscles convulsed and Face startled, bolting upright in the chair. He cast a glance at Hannibal, then at Murdock. The pilot tried to smile back but it became another grimace.

"I . . . I'm sorry, Hannibal. I didn't mean to . . . how long have I been sleeping?" Face stammered.

The Colonel's tone was edged with anger. "Maybe five hours. Let me take a look at that gunshot wound."

Face gazed at his friend with guilty eyes as he moved to the other side of the bed and sat down. "I'm sorry, Murdock. I didn't mean to doze off. How long have you been awake?"

The pilot's answer came in a hoarse whisper. "No problemo . . . muchacho . . . not long . . ." He searched for and clutched Face's hand and gave him a weak smile.

Hannibal pulled back the covers to expose the wounded leg. He checked the drain in the sutured wound and the skin around it for redness or heat which would indicate infection. Finding none, he sighed in relief and checked the IV.

"How's your head, Murdock? Are you feeling pain right now?"

Truth was, his head throbbed constantly and movement made it much worse. The pain was increasing and couldn't be ignored or pushed down anymore.

The anxiety in Hannibal's expression bothered the pilot. He thought of telling a little white lie or trying to kid his way out of answering. He knew he had never been very convincing when he tried it in the past.

As if Hannibal read his mind, he added, "I want the truth, Captain. Not what you think will make me feel better."

Murdock shook his head and the action made a sharp spasm shoot through his head. He tried to suck in his cry of pain but it escaped before he could contain it. He felt Face's hand tighten around his. With effort, he regained control over the ache in his head.

"Some water . . . please." He closed his eyes, shutting out Hannibal's worry and Face's fear.

"This has gone on long enough, Captain. Doctor Hernandez was right. You need the help only the medical staff at a hospital can provide."

The Colonel's words chilled the blood flowing through the pilot's veins. Murdock felt Hannibal's gloved hand on his shoulder as he held back the insane urge to rip the IV out and run away from all of them.

"Murdock, look at me."

He felt himself slipping into the nightmare, harnessed in the pilot's seat, trapped in a rapid free-fall into something he knew they couldn't see.

"Look at me, Captain."

The imagined screams of those Medivac crewmen and his own scream merged as one.

"Murdock, buddy, come on! Snap out of it!" He looked up to see his friend's face inches from his own, the Lieutenant's arm slung across his upper body in an effort to restrain him. Swinging his head to the side and feeling the corresponding nauseating jolt of pain, Murdock saw Hannibal injecting something directly into the IV drip. He knew from his experiences at the V A hospital what that meant.

"Don't . . . " His struggles became less agitated as the sedative did its work. The next hour was a surreal mixture of reality and insanity playing in his mind. He heard the doctor say the words "intracranial hematoma" and "critical" from a distance. Hannibal's muffled response sounded resigned but angry.

Before the call was made for the ambulance, his friends surrounded the bed. They each said goodbye in their own way.

B. A. was trembling as if his whole body was holding back a tremendous weight. He stared at the floor before muttering, "You better get well, brother, or I gonna come and pound ya." Then he abruptly walked out of the room.

_They died and it was my doin'. I should've died in the prison camp. No place here for a crazy murderous fool._

Face was shaking, too. He didn't say much. Taking the pilot's hand in his in the special secret handshake Murdock had taught him long ago, the one Face insisted was too silly to use, he said, "I'm never very far away, buddy." He stood at the door waiting for Hannibal.

_Faceman, don't go. _The chopper was accelerating, the ground coming closer.

The Colonel's goodbye was the one that ripped at Murdock's heart the most. Seeing Hannibal's pained expression, hearing the guilt and sorrow mingled in his tone, hurt more than the constant ache in the pilot's head.

"I never wanted this to happen, Murdock. I tried to prevent it for as long as I could. Just remember, you _always_ have a place on this team. We need you. You're our secret weapon when the chips are down. I'm ordering you to stay alive and get better, Captain." With that, Hannibal stood at attention and saluted.

Then all that was left in the room was Doctor Hernandez and Bart and all of the nightmarish memories crowding in and taking control.


	29. Chapter 29 Dr Richter

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 29 Dr. Richter

Dr. Richter answered the rap on the glass of his office door. He was curious ever since receiving the phone call from the man driving in from Desert Hot Springs. Of course, anything that would help him with Captain H. M. Murdock's treatment was welcome, and especially now.

"Dr. Richter? My name is Langston Bartholomew. I was a gunner assigned to H. M. Murdock's crew in Viet Nam." The black man at the door was short and thin. His businesslike tone indicated this was a man who invested his time and energy toward things that mattered. Dr. Richter sensed this appointment was more a business call than a friendly visit.

They shook hands and the psychiatrist gestured for Bart to sit down. Richter took his place behind his desk.

"I have to tell you up front that I may have to turn down your request to see Captain Murdock for the present. We were making progress with him until after his latest disappearance. When he came back to us after his stay at Desert Regional Medical Center, much of the most recent progress was undone. A visit with him may not be safe for you or for him." Dr. Richter laced his fingers together on top of his desk.

He sensed this man knew about Murdock's hospital stay and possibly the reasons for the injuries and setback. Perhaps he even knew about the mysterious fugitive A team which Richter suspected kept in contact with Murdock. He decided to be careful with what he said.

"Dr. Richter, without violating patient confidentiality, has the Captain told you how he got injured?" Bartholomew kept his eyes on the doctor, gauging his reaction to the question.

_So Bartholomew is as cautious of me as I am of him. One of us has to play our cards so everything possible can be done for my patient._

"What if you tell me what you know? Then I can confirm things without betraying my patient's trust and privacy. How did you know he was here? You've never been on the Captain's visitor list. I checked."

Bartholomew smiled at the relatively easy opening question. Doctoring the truth as he was coached to do might not be as difficult as he thought it would be.

"My son was in the same hospital as Captain Murdock and I happened to be there when he came into the emergency. I recognized him and made sure I found out where he was transferred when he left the hospital." _Most of that's the truth,_ he thought to himself.

"Okay, how did Captain Murdock come to be in the vicinity of Palm Springs when he doesn't drive? We know he escaped sometime during the night over a week ago but how did he get over 120 miles from here?"

Bartholomew smiled again. "Maybe he has friends on the outside who drove him there?"

Richter narrowed his eyes. "Do you know how the Captain got injured?"

The ex-gunner thought for a moment and answered. "Didn't I ask you the same question at the beginning of this interview?"

"No, you asked me if the Captain_ told me_ how he was injured. Those are two very different questions." The doctor tried to push down his rising impatience.

"I understood he fell somewhere on a ridge hiking trail in Mt. San Jacinto State Park and hit his head on a rock outcropping. Somewhere he confronted someone who was armed and that was how he got shot." Bartholomew raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Next question?"

"I read the newspapers and saw that there's been a police department shakedown and a major drug smuggling ring busted in your area. Know anything about that?"

_I suspect that's somehow related to Captain Murdock, maybe even the A team. Wonder if this man will tell me anything straight. _The doctor leaned forward at his desk and stared intensely at the man before him.

"Listen, Doctor Richter. A lot of good kids were getting messed up by Mr. Whitman and his smuggling operation. The persons who nailed him, his associates and the corrupt officers who were protecting him should be commended for what they did." The black man's eyes flashed with anger and Richter knew he had hit a sore spot.

The doctor sighed in frustration. "Look, you're not making this very easy. Maybe I should ask you exactly what your intentions are for visiting Captain Murdock. Can you answer that without being evasive or mysterious?"

"Something I said to him when we found time to talk may have caused the breakdown I understand he suffered. I want to clear some of that up with him and with you." There was no mistaking the sincerity in Bartholomew's voice. This was one topic he would not be evasive about.

"Okay. Tell me first what you said and then we can talk about what you want to say to him." Richter unlaced his fingers and leaned back in his chair cupping his chin with one hand.

"Like I said, I was a gunner on Captain Murdock's crew over in Nam. I don't know if he ever told you about the incident with Jerry Connors and his three men."

"He has. He almost got killed here on the hospital grounds by Connors because of the massacre he saw back then." Richter straightened in his seat. "Wait a minute. Were you a witness to the same incident?"

Bartholomew stared down at the floor and nodded. "What he didn't remember was what happened after we witnessed that."

"Go on."

"One of Connors' bullets found its mark. It lodged in the Captain's thigh, same general area where he was wounded this time. The peter pilot Jase Hammett got shot in the shoulder. Neither of them were in the type of condition to fly the chopper very well to limp it back to base camp."

"Hold it. Jase Hammett. Is he another witness?"

"Was, Doctor Richter. Was. He committed suicide this last June. Anyway, the Captain was delirious with the shock of what he saw and the shot he took. At least, that's what I think. He was having a tough time getting us back to base camp. When he did, it was like he thought it was a VC outpost. He was yelling in Vietnamese all the way back and then I figure he passed out as he was landing. The chopper accelerated and crashed nose first into a Medivac chopper with a crew of four." Bartholomew stopped and rubbed his eyes with one hand.

"What happened then?"

"The four Medivac crew members died. Jase and Captain Murdock were in critical condition. The Captain came back to fly after an extended time in the hospital. Jase didn't. He returned stateside."

"And you told Captain Murdock all of this?"

Richter was surprised to see the beginnings of tears in the black man's eyes. " He asked if I would help him testify against Connors. He was having flashbacks and nightmares. I thought he needed to know the truth of what happened, help him figure out some of the things he couldn't understand about his dreams. He agreed, thought you could help him better if he knew. After the crash, he didn't remember much of anything about the mission. Not until Connors showed up here. But he still didn't know all of it until he and I saw each other again."

Richter and Bartholomew sat in silence for a few seconds. Then Richter responded. "Well, that explains a lot of what he's been saying since he came back. He's blaming himself for the deaths of those four men."

"Something else. I have to be able to clear a private matter with him without anyone listening." Bartholomew narrowed his eyes at the psychiatrist.

"I can't let you do that without knowing the content of what you're going to say." Richter crossed his arms.

The ex-gunner thought for a few moments. "Okay. He wondered why I was hostile toward him when I first saw him. I don't deny I was. I didn't realize he had lost the memory of everything from that recon mission we were on. When he came back from the hospital, it was like he didn't know me at all. He didn't put in a request for me to be a member of his new crew. For me, during those times when all the civil rights issues were being debated and protested over here and over there, that was like the kiss of death. I didn't get promoted past Corporal First Class and I had a tough time getting on another crew. I always figured it was because I disobeyed a command to shoot Connors and his friends and more so because I was a black man and he was a Southerner looking for a reason to dump me. I hated him because of that for more than ten years."

"You think that is going to help him heal?" Doctor Richter stared at the man in disbelief. "Or is it for you?" The doctor shook his head. "I can't let you talk about that with him at this point. Maybe sometime in the future. Right now, he needs to accept the fact that those deaths were an accident. He has to stop blaming himself."

"Can I help with that?" Bartholomew's eyes pleaded with the doctor.

"Maybe. But I have to be there when you talk to him. Come with me." Doctor Richter escorted Bartholomew from his office.


	30. Chapter 30 The Visit

Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 30 The Visit

"I have to warn you again, Mr. Bartholomew, this will not be an easy visit. Captain Murdock's condition is fragile. You may not like what you see but trust me that it is necessary for his safety." Doctor Richter paused before putting the key to the door of the lock-down unit. He made eye contact with the black man. "At any time during this visit, if I feel he is getting unnecessarily agitated because of the path the conversation is following, you _will be_ escorted out. Do you understand?"

Bartholomew took in a deep breath and nodded. "I understand. Let me see him. Please."

The first thing Bart noticed about the room was its sparsity of furniture. The only chair in the room was occupied by a well-muscled male attendant who stood as the two men entered.

"He's been pretty quiet so far this morning, Doctor Richter. No violent physical or verbal events like yesterday. He refused to accept any of the soft foods I offered and turned his face toward the wall when I tried to feed him."

The doctor frowned with concern. "If he continues to refuse solid food, we'll have to use the bed restraints and hook up the IV again."

In sympathy, the attendant glanced toward the cot, the only other furniture in the room. The figure lying there, face hidden from view, trembled at the words.

"Thank you, Art. Please stand by outside the door. I'll call you if we need you." The doctor walked over to the bed. "Captain Murdock, someone is here to see you."

Bart's gaze was fixated on the figure curled up in a tight ball and facing the wall. He had never before seen someone in a straightjacket. The only thing that identified the figure as the man he had come to visit was the disheveled greasy brown hair that skimmed the collar of the restraining garment.

Doctor Richter touched the pilot's shoulder. "Captain, I know you're not sleeping. This man came all the way from Desert Hot Springs to visit. He used to work with you."

Murdock jerked his shoulder away. He partially straightened his legs to turn over onto his back. The left eye was no longer swollen shut and the bruised lump on his forehead had gone down. Purplish green splotches around both areas showed the blood from the bruising was dissipating into the surrounding tissues. There had been surgery to release the pressure from the intracranial hematoma and the burr hole had been covered with taped gauze. Although the stitched gash on the cheek was healing, the pilot's face was gaunt, his expression haunted and frightened. Bart took in all of this with a tinge of guilt.

The pilot's confused eyes wandered from the doctor to the man standing behind him. Recognizing Bart, he squeezed them shut and clenched his teeth. His jaw muscles twitched with tension.

The doctor drew the chair up beside the cot and sat. "Mr. Bartholomew came here to tell me what he knows about the incident with Connors over in Viet Nam."

The pilot's eyelids snapped open and he growled in a hoarse voice, "Nothin' to be done 'bout that. The past is past." A bitter laugh erupted from him. "No trial now. No justice."

"Interesting you should say that. He's told me about the crash." Richter gazed at Murdock, waiting for a reply.

The pilot laughed again, a self-incriminating inflection to the sound. "There'll be justice for that one. Eye for an eye, doc, eye for an eye."

Richter responded. "You've been saying it's your fault. Do you know that for certain? Is it possible you were blocking the memory of the massacre even as you flew back to base camp? If you were barely conscious from the leg wound and blocking the memory, how could you be responsible for your actions?"

Murdock's answer was a derisive mutter. "Doesn't matter. Four men died 'cause of me."

"Captain, with all respect, and I mean that sincerely, I heard you go silent. I _saw_ you slump in your seat moments before the chopper went nose down. I never got to tell you that part before you . . . " Bart stopped, looking at Richter, realizing he was about to contradict something he said in the psychiatrist's office. " . . . before you ran off. I tackled you to stop you from getting lost or hurt out there on the ridge."

Murdock squirmed into a sitting position, his back against the wall. He was trembling, his eyes widened and frantic. "Then why in hell am I _hearing_ their screams? Why am I _seeing_ their blood on my hands? They look at me and accuse me day and night. Why did I _survive_ and they _didn't_?"

"Let me ask you this, Captain." Bart's tone was confrontational and harsh. Doctor Richter put up a hand to stop the words but couldn't. "Why did _I _survive? It was _me_ who disobeyed your order to shoot those men before they shot us down. I was as much responsible for that bullet in your leg as the one who fired the gun. It was my inaction that contributed to the crash. You think about _that_ before you go taking on all the blame!"

Both men ignored the doctor. Bart was breathing hard with the anger he had just released. Murdock drew his knees up and shivered in his effort to push back the memory. His tormented eyes focused on something distant that the other men could not see.

"They won't leave me alone. They're in my dreams. They visit 'n' tell me I killed 'em. They want justice." He bowed his head over his knees. His shoulders heaved with silent sobs of agony.

"I think you had better leave now, Mr. Bartholomew." The doctor got up and started toward the door but paused as Bart approached the cot.

"Captain, you have friends on the outside that need you. One of them wanted me to give you a special message." Bart sat down in the vacant chair.

Richter noticed the words drew Murdock's attention away from his internal struggle. The pilot raised his head. His troubled brown eyes searched Bart's face as if the message was the key to freedom. Tears were trickling down his cheeks with no way for him to brush them away. The doctor hesitated to call the attendant and opted to watch the scene play itself out.

Bart leaned forward and gripped the Captain's shoulder. "He wanted me to say 'I'm never very far away, buddy.' He also taught me a secret handshake. If your hand was free, I was supposed to do that, too." The black man studied the pilot's face to determine if he understood.

Murdock whispered the word "Face" and swallowed. Looking into Bart's eyes, he nodded his head slowly with comprehension.

"The doctor told me I have to go but I want you to know that I _will_ be back. In the meantime, your CO told me to remind you of his last order to you. Stay alive and get well, Captain."

Once outside the V A hospital, Bart strode over to the black van parked on the side street. Getting in the rear side door, he gave each of the waiting men a quick nod.

"He's in an observation room in their lock-down ward. When I got to see him, they had him in a straightjacket."

Face flinched at the thought. "Did he seem . . . better?"

"I don't know how to answer that. He seemed to be healing from his physical wounds. Mentally? I don't know. They said he hasn't been eating. He's seeing and hearing people who are dead. He's having nightmares." Bart leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes.

"You gave Doctor Richter the information we told you to give him? Nothing more, nothing less?" Hannibal probed.

"Yes."

The Colonel worked the cigar to the side of his mouth before speaking. "Richter's a good smart doctor who really cares. Now that he has the answers to the memories Murdock buried for so long, he'll know what to do. We'll call Daniela and make sure she gives us progress reports and tells us when the Captain is returned to his room."

Bart raised his eyebrows at the mention of the unfamiliar name.

"Captain Murdock's guardian angel. She's a nurse who seems to have caught our pilot's eye," Hannibal explained. "She's our eyes and ears on the ward."

"You gave him my message?" Face touched Bart's shoulder.

"In my opinion, I think that's one of the things that might help him heal. He reacted well to it. Your message too, Colonel Smith." Bart smiled. "And now, I think I had better get back home and see how Jermaine is doing. He's going to be in the hospital a little longer than we anticipated. Gives the drugs time to work out of his system. He's in physical therapy to get his shoulder muscles back into condition."

B. A. looked in the rearview mirror. "Tell the little brother I'm 'spectin' to hear good reports 'bout him."

Bart nodded. "I will. I've got to thank you gentlemen for driving me out to retrieve my plane from the regional airport. And for everything you did to help Jermaine and me. I will have the rest of the money for you by the end of the week. "

"It was a _pleasure_ disposing of garbage like Whitman. We'll be in touch, Mr. Bartholomew." As the ex-gunner walked across the parking lot to his car, Hannibal gave a hopeful glance back at the V A hospital. "Let's go, B. A."


End file.
